Orphan
by The Lady Frost
Summary: They lost everything in a dying city - a pair of hopeless souls without a prayer. Abandoned, betrayed, and broken they bonded together to make something worth holding onto. Out of the ugliest storm, something beautiful waits to start again. He just has to let go of everything he believes to try. For her, she just has to never let go.(Post Raccoon retelling of life after Umbrella).
1. Chapter 1

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part One:**

**-Under the Umbrella-**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Survival**

* * *

**Outside of Raccoon City, 1998**

* * *

_The first smell she remembers is dust. It's dirty in the conductors office on the train that takes her to safety. Alone, she was pretty sure her life was over the moment the world caught on fire and the first of the people died screaming in the garage._

_She'd hidden, a master of it before the fall, and kept on hiding as the entire city became a necropolis. She was good at hiding. She'd been doing it most of her life when she was alone in the mansion where her parents seldom returned. She was a girl with so much heart and imagination, looking for things to make friends or family and fill the void of emptiness that almost canopied over the basis of her existence._

_She watches the redhead who'd saved her in a dying city. A beautiful girl, the type that made Irons remark on her porcelain skin and brilliant blue eyes, Claire was instantly likable - funny and fiery and determined. She'd aligned herself to a girl she'd just met and never let go. Beside her, the rookie cop looks tired._

_He's handsome - the kind of handsome reserved for storybook heroes and princes on white horses - he holds the controls on the train car and guides them into the coming sun. He smells like sewage and gasoline and blood. He's wounded, leaning heavily on the one side from a wound that still oozes beneath a dirty bandage. She's wounded herself, curled on a coat against the wall watching them._

_She'd barely survived the infection. She could still feel it in her, something like a parasite, gnawing at her blood and bones. It made her vision clear somehow. She was pretty sure it wasn't all gone._

_She listens to them talk. Claire, filthy but fine, remarking about hiding and hoofing it and making for safety. The rookie looking pale but determined, nodding. Claire calls him Leon and puts a name to a face with a soft smile._

_He glances back at Sherry and questions, "You ok, kid? Warm enough?"_

_She nods. She's warm. She's in the sunlight now as the day rises into dawn. The train rolls to a stop. They're at the station far beyond the final destruction. She watched the world turn white as the bombs dropped. She knew her parents had already died before the bomb drops, but she still mourns them. She looks at the empty train station as they exit the car together._

_Leon clears the inside with his weapon, instructing them to stay put and wait. Claire checks the outside while they wait, talking about her brother and how she thinks he's in Colorado. She'd show them the way once their wounds were treated._

_Leon opens the door to station. His face catches the light. Sherry has a moment to blink - his eyes are the same blue as the dog she'd had as a girl, a husky, and his face is haloed in light. She feels her breath catch as he tells them, "It's clear. We're safe."_

_Without thinking, somehow, Sherry knows he's right._

* * *

She came awake listening to the heavy sound of quiet bickering. Creeping, she moved closer to the small office where Leon and Claire were whispering harshly. Her ears perked at her name from his mouth.

"-Sherry? Did you? She's badly wounded, Claire, she can't make the trip. She needs medical attention, a hospital, and help."

Claire's voice was angry, "She's fine! She can make it! I can't stay here too long, Leon! My brother is waiting! You're saying you can't make it either?

His voice came back, shaking with pain and quiet rage, "I look like I can hoof it across the goddamn country right now? I'm half dead here. I'm pretty sure this shit is infected. I haven't slept in three days. I'm starving and shaking. I need rest! I need medicine! I need some help here! I can't start out on foot toward the Rockies right now! Wait a few days here, just a couple days, and we can go. But I can't do it now."

The quiet dragged on until Claire finally answered, "...I'm so sorry, Leon. I am. I can't wait. What if he's in danger? If they followed him...I have to go find him. I have to. He needs me. He's my brother."

The silence was loud. Sherry put a hand to her mouth to stifle the small sound of fear and regret. What was she saying here? She was going to leave them?!

To break the moment, Sherry burst into the room. "No! Claire! You said you'd never leave me!"

Claire turned, looking stricken, she hurried forward and knelt. Sherry threw her arms around her neck and clung as the redhead told her, "I'll come back...ok? I'll come back for you. In a few days, when you're better, you and Leon will follow me. I'll have found Chris and gotten set up there. We can do the best we can to make it work. I'm not leaving you...I'm just giving you a little time to heal. Leon will take care of you."

Sherry saw the angry expression on the rookie cop over Claire's head. He curled his lip and turned away, stumbling a little until he could perch on the desk and curse. Sherry watched him rip off the binding on his chest and grunt with pain.

The skin was inflamed around the ragged wound. It was red and weeping, angry and swollen. He touched it, hissed, and shook his head.

Claire rose and Sherry tried to cling until the redhead pulled her hands away, "I'm-I'm sorry. I am. I'll see you soon. Help...help Leon with his wounds too, ok? You're so tough, you can do this. It's just a couple more days. Just a few...I promise."

Sherry stood frozen as Claire tried once more to reach the rookie, "Leon...I'll come back for you."

He laughed with disdain, "Just go Claire. You want to find your goddamn brother! THEN GO!"

His shout shook the rafters. Sherry jumped. Claire looked stricken. She backed up two steps. Her hand pressed to her mouth. Her eyes teared and she whispered, "I'm so sorry. I'll come back. I'm sorry."

She ran for it. Her boots echoed.

Sherry made a small sound of grief.

Leon's angry face fell when he turned his gaze to her. He gestured with his head, gruffly stating, "Hey...hey it's ok. It's alright. We can do this, right? You and me? We can do this together."

Sherry whimpered.

Leon, steeling his jaw, soothed, "It's ok. I won't leave you. You don't have to believe me...hell...why should you? But I won't leave you unless it's in a body bag, ok? _Forget _Claire."

He basically spit from between his teeth and added, "Come help me. Come on."

Sherry scurried over, scared, but determined. He let her poke gingerly at his wound and paled with pain when she pressed and saw the wound make pus in a gooey mess. She whispered, "...that's really bad."

He nodded, breathing hard, "Yeah...it ain't good. It's infected. I need you to look anywhere you can for something I can use to disinfect it, ok? Anything at all."

With a purpose, it was easier to keep the fear at bay. Sherry ran through the station looking for anything they could use. When she came back, he was collapsed on the floor by the wall with his head back.

She soaked the rag in her hand in rubbing alcohol and gingerly laid over his wound. He grabbed her wrist, his other hand grabbed her arm and bit into her skin. She watched his face go tense with pain. His mouth turned pale and he grunted, "...shit...I'm a wimp huh?"

She shook her head, "...you're so brave. I saw you...you took on my-you took on the monster. You did that while Claire guided the train. You did that alone."

He cracked one eye open, scanning her face, "...that's stupidity, Sherry, not bravery."

She denied that too, "It's bravery. You were terrified."

He laughed, high and pained as she squeezed his wound to expel more pus and cleaned around the stitches. "Saw that, did you? So much for my dreams of being an actor."

Quietly, Sherry told him, "You're handsome enough to be an actor."

Amused, he smiled, "Thanks. For all the good it's done me. Bravery, good looks, and stupidity...trusting women who aren't worth trusting." He lolled a little on his neck as Sherry treated the wound until it was no longer making pus, "I should have left her, ya know? I should have...but she needed me."

Sherry paused, looking at his tired face where it leaned back against the wall. He was speaking about the woman in red. She knew that, she'd heard the quiet fighting before on the train. The woman in red mattered to him somehow.

She'd betrayed him and left him for dead?

He'd saved her life anyway.

He started talking about her. He talked and talked, pouring over quiet details about his time there, spilling the truth in a way that made Sherry stop being nervous. She finally realized she'd cleaned his wound some time ago and was just sitting there beside him listening. He talked until he made a small sound of fatigue.

She wasn't even sure he was aware of it until he trailed off and the soft sound of snoring filled the office.

Sherry, concerned, checked his eyes by lifting one of his lids, but he was just sleeping.

She locked the office door and cuddled beside him on the floor. When he murmured in his sleep, Sherry curled against his naked side, looping an arm over his narrow waist. She touched the softly rising and falling lines on his belly, the delineated muscles in his abdomen and the softened but still hard line of his biceps. He was young, she was guessing Claire's age or close to it, but it wasn't a boy's body. It was a man.

It was easier for a girl on the new cusp of puberty to focus on a cute face than a terrible trauma. She slept, she dreamed of death and destruction. Awake, she could touch the little cleft in Leon's chin and pretend her life wasn't irrevocably changed.

She touched the reddened skin around the bandage, brow furrowed. It wasn't good. It was going to scar. He needed a doctor. She wasn't entirely sure how to find one since she had only half an idea of where they were. The train station had offered a small map on the wall to let her know she was in Whispering Pines. The train had taken them almost fifty miles outside of Raccoon City.

Far enough to make sure they were safe, close enough to watch the blast go off that leveled the place she'd grown up. She had a parrot named Petey who had been incinerated in that destruction. She had a single friend named Megan Miser who'd slept over a handful of times who'd died there. She'd lost her life, her parents, her home, her future...all of it in a city over run with the dead.

She had nothing.

Her lips trembled. She made a small whimper of misery and clamped her teeth to keep it in. Leon stirred against the wall and cracked an eye at her. She shook her head in apology and he lifted his arm, inviting softly, "S'ok, kid. Come here."

Sherry shifted in, looping her arms around his waist. She cuddled against him, eyes filling with weighty tears. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and squeezed her gently, "I had a sister once..."

Sherry went quiet, listening intently, as he went on, "She died when I was about your age. We were those kids who couldn't stay out of trouble, ya know? Katie liked to climb. She climbed up trees like a monkey. One day..." He shifted and Sherry sighed when his cheek laid gently on the top of her head, "Katie decided it was a good day to climb in a rain storm. So...we climbed all the way up. I'd never been so high...I could see the whole world up there. I could see from one end of town to the other. My Dad...he left when I was young, ya know? So it was just me and Katie and my Mom. Up there in that tree, Katie and I thought maybe we could squint real hard and see him..."

He went quiet for so long Sherry thought he might have fallen asleep, and then he spoke again and his voice caught with old pain that hadn't ever really healed, "...they say lightning doesn't strike twice...that day it struck that tree we were in. I fell, hard, and woke up on the ground with my leg broke in three places. Katie...she didn't fall. She was always such a good climber...she hung on. She died up in that tree before they could get her. They claimed it was only struck once...but I _heard _it, ya know? I heard it when I fell. I heard it strike again. Katie died trying to find our Dad."

Sherry whispered, softly, "...my dad is dead..."

He clutched her closer, soothing, "I know...I know he is. I can't promise Claire will come back, Sherry...I can't do that..but I can tell you this - I won't let you die waiting for her. I couldn't protect Katie...but I can protect you...if you'll let me."

She nodded, eyes shimmering. Her hands held onto him as she mewed, "...do you promise?"

"...I do...as long as a I can...I'm going to do everything I can to keep you safe...reach into my pocket on my vest there."

She did and her fingers closed around his badge. He smiled, shivering with fever, "...keep it. I don't need it anymore...but it's...it's good, ya know? It's good to have. It's my promise to you. I will always serve and protect, Sherry. It's just...it's who I am."

She whispered, "...I want to trust you."

He nodded, eyes flickering, and urged, "I know you do...it's ok that you can't yet. I hope you will, when you're ready. Keep that badge, and remember that I took an oath when they gave that to me. I took an oath that I plan to keep on upholding...even though I'm not really a cop anymore."

Honor - it was something that was hard for a girl to understand. She saw it on him, some kind of nobility that had brought him into a dying city to serve and protect. He wore honor like the badge, bracing it against a barrage of horror and betrayal. He was hurt, maybe dying, and still trying to uphold an oath he made when he'd become a rookie - for the one whole day he'd served.

She wanted to believe in him. He was making it really, really easy.

She held on even after she felt his body relent into sleep again. She closed her eyes and clung to him. She was still holding on when she woke up some hours later to find his skin was feverishly hot.

Afraid, she let go and lifted her head. He was flushed and breathing hard. He was sick. She knew it, she didn't need to be a doctor to know it. The infection? Was he _turning_!?

She whispered, high and scared, "...Leon?"

His eyes opened, bright with fever, "...heya kid...I'm not doing so hot, huh? You find any aspirin when you were poking around?"

She nodded, scurrying to get the bottle. She dumped a few pills into her hands and grabbed some bottled water. Leon was shaking when he took them. He grunted, lip curling in pain, "...fuck. I'm in trouble, sweetheart. Can you...are you ok to look outside and see if you notice anything like...a car? Or something for us to try like hell to get somewhere for some help here."

Sherry nodded, leaping up, she gave him a thumbs up, "I'm on it! Just...wait here!"

She hurried out of the station and started looking in the windows of the two cars in the abandoned parking lot. They were old, seemed sad and left behind, and she wasn't sure if there was any chance of starting them up. She broke the window out of the first one with a brick she found and climbed in to mess with the interior looking for keys.

To her joy, she found them tucked up in the visor like something out of a bad movie. She started the engine and hurried inside again, calling excitedly, "Leon!? I found a car!"

She found him struggling to his feet and looped his arm over her shoulders. Amused, he looked at her affectionately as she walked him toward the car in the lot and tried to aim him at the passenger seat. He resisted, grunting, "...you think you can drive?"

She laughed, admitting, "I can...sorta. My parents...they were gone a lot. Sometimes I got bored. You think I can possibly drive worse than you? Claire told me about your wreck."

He grunted, grinning as he collapsed in the passenger seat. She ran around the hood and climbed behind the wheel. He informed her, "...that was unavoidable. I'm a good driver."

She patted his knee and pulled the old car onto the road with a little fishtail of tires. He slumped in the seat, breathing hard. Sherry struggled with the old car that was clearly lacking power steering.

She started to lose control and he caught the wheel, tugging on it to keep them steady. When she glanced at him, he winked and told her softly, "...I gotcha, kid. Follow the signs for a hospital, honey, ok?"

For almost twenty minutes, she drove with him holding the wheel. He kept making sounds of pain that worried her. She talked to ease the silence, telling him about her parents and how they were hardly ever around and had parties when they were with weird nerdy friends.

The sound of a siren had her glancing at his face in fear. He told her, "...it's ok...it's alright. It might be an ambulance. Pull over, ok? And maybe we can hitch a ride."

She did, easing the car off the road.

A handful of seconds later, eight cruisers shot up the highway. Her hands clutched at him as they surrounded the little old car, lights flashing, and cops with guns pointing. Softly, Leon urged, "...get down and ease over here...get on the floor at my feet, ok?"

She did, without a word, making a small keen of fear.

He rose in the seat, face pink, and told her, "...whatever happens, stay down, you hear me?"

Sherry nodded.

There was a rap of knuckles on the window and a voice commanded, "Officer Kennedy? We're gonna need you to come on out of the vehicle."

Softly, Sherry whined, "...how does he know you!?"

Leon shrugged and returned, "...I don't think so. Show me some I.D."

Without warning, the door was wrenched from his hand and Leon spilled out to the ground. Sherry whimpered, her sight compromised, and watched Leon rise and battle the man for the gun in his hand. It was terrifying.

Leon, wounded, wasn't a match for the other man. He was easily knocked down and three men rushed up to restrain him. A gun was aimed at him as the man commanded, "Stop fighting us! You made this worse for yourself. Where is the girl!?"

Leon laughed and spit on the ground at his feet. "What girl?"

Sherry keened as the man pistol whipped him across the face. Leon sagged, grunting, and spit blood on the ground as the man demanded, "The girl, you little shit? Where is she?!"

A voice called, "Johnson, you idiot, back off!"

A woman in a suit came over, beautiful, but severe with a bun in black. She cupped Leon's chin and drew his attention where he sagged in the arms of his captor's. "You're ill, Mr. Kennedy, and you're no match for us. Don't make this worse, where is Sherry Birkin?"

They didn't know about Claire.

They knew about _her, _but they didn't know about Claire.

Somehow, she knew Leon wouldn't say a word about either of them.

He snapped, "...who?"

The woman sighed and told the men around her, "Fan out, search the area. She's hiding somewhere. She was with him at the station."

The other man, Johnson, asked, "You got eyes on her for confirmation on that?"

The woman nodded, "Less than four hours ago via helicopter. She's either there or she's here somewhere."

She gripped Leon's chin again to get his attention, "Last chance, Mr. Kennedy, where is she?"

He lifted his lips in a half smug smile, "...I don't know who you're talking about."

The woman tossed his chin from her hand and told the men, "Put him in the van. Tie him up and make him talk."

Sherry covered her mouth with her hands and hunkered down further. She heard them hitting him. She knew he was in that van getting beaten. Her whimper of pain was lost in the sound of fists on flesh.

He hadn't given her up. He hadn't said a word. Why? She wasn't worth anything!

After awhile, the woman shouted, "Anyone check the fucking car!?"

The door was jerked open. Sherry stared in horror and the woman laughed, "...why hello darling, aren't you cute?"

She grabbed for her, Sherry bit her hand and kicked her in the face, and she scrambled to the other side and opened the door. Tumbling to the ground, she started running. Leon shouted from the van, "RUN! Don't look back, Sherry! KEEP RUNNING!"

She didn't. She ran for the van. When the first man turned, Sherry kicked him right in the balls. As he staggered, she shoved him over and grabbed the ankles of the man in the van with his back to her. He went down, landed on his face with a metallic thump, and Sherry grabbed for his gun. As he rolled, she shot him in the chest at point blank range.

Bound to a chair, covered in blood and bruises, Leon gave her wide eyes as she grabbed for his bonds. "...I'll get you out, I promise!"

She shoved the dead man out of the van, slammed the back doors, and ran for the front. Leon felt the van lurch as she gunned the engine and the sound of gunfire chased the squeal of tires onto the road. She'd just attempted to rescue him.

His chair hit the wall of the van as she cornered too hard. He grunted, Sherry shouted and tried to hold on, and the van spun out anyway as a hail of bullets took out the passenger window.

The van tipped, it hit its side and skidded over the filthy ground, Leon was thrown into the ceiling and came down with a groan. Sherry scrambled back as the engine ticked madly and grabbed or his hands, "...I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I couldn't stop it!"

She was bleeding from her face. He watched her jerk on his bonds and murmured, "...Sherry, look at me..."

They could hear the people running for them. The bad guys were coming again. She begged, "...help me! Leon, help me! I can't undo this knot!"

He tried again, voice calm, "Sweetheart..look at me..."

She did, shaking, breathing hard and scared. "...they're gonna take you."

She whimpered, shaking her head in denial, she grabbed for his hands again. He said it once more, "...they're gonna take you, honey. They might kill me too. Sherry?"

She stopped and gasped, "...you promised not to leave me."

"...I promised to protect you...let me do that. Let me try."

She felt her face collapse with a small sob. She whispered, "...I cant be alone, Leon. I can't be alone."

He lifted his chin and she collapsed against his battered chest, clinging. He told her, voice gruff, "...I'll find you...I swear to god."

The doors were jerked open. Sherry shouted and tried to protect him. She crouched over him as they grabbed for her. He shouted in anger when they hit her with a shock rod and her small body bounced in pain.

"_You motherfuckers! She's just a girl!"_

The woman grabbed his chin and snapped, "Not anymore...she's a fucking _B.O.W."_

He couldn't stop the pistol that came for his temple.

* * *

Sherry cowered in the dark, listening to them interrogate him. When they were done, she knew they'd kill him. They'd kill him and she'd be alone. She put her ear to the glass wall and could see him in the shadows beyond the enclosure where she was kept.

The woman demanded, "...were you alone? Was anyone else with you?"

Without missing a beat, he answered, "...you kidding? Everyone else in that city is dead. You know that...you and your people...you waited to evacuate...you left everyone to die and quarantined the fall out. You killed them."

The woman laughed, "Umbrella killed them...we just left the fallout until we could sanitize. Safety comes at a cost, Mr. Kennedy."

She turned her head, speaking softly to the man beside her. Surprised, she inquired, "...you're positive?"

She turned back to Leon, "...it seems we underestimated you, Leon. The fever in your body? That's more than fighting infection, it's burning away the residual signs of the T-Virus...you're immune. Incredible. How else could you have survived? Indirectly, we stumbled onto the only living pair inoculated now against the T and G Viruses. Sherry...she's special. She's...a gift...and so are you."

His filthy look was answered by her laugh, "...I'm about to give you a choice that I wouldn't have ten minutes ago. I'm gonna give you the opportunity to serve your country."

He laughed and laughed and laughed. "You can kiss my fucking ass."

"...I could...but how about this? You agree and we inherit a soldier with a natural resistance to the thing we're looking to destroy...or I start experimenting on Sherry."

Sherry watched him jerk in his seat and the woman added, "...she doesn't have to be alive for that, Leon. Alive and in our care or dead and on a lab table somewhere. Your choice...all it costs you is your freedom."

Sherry slapped the glass, rising to shout, "DON'T! Leon, don't! I'm not worth it!"

His gaze shifted to her. One of his eyes was rimmed in blood around the pupil. He was hurt, desperately, and she knew he wouldn't survive another beating. She couldn't stand there and let him sell himself for her.

She just couldn't.

He smiled, sadly, and called, "...it's ok, sweetheart. This is how I climb that tree, right? I keep my promises."

Sherry shouted, "NO! DON'T! I'M NOT WORTH IT!"

Leon turned his gaze back to the woman and demanded, "Safe. I want her safe. I want her cared for. Not a goddamn pin cushion, a place where she can find peace."

The woman chuckled and shrugged, "Sure. Why not? Let's pretend you're in a position to make demands. Safe I can promise, but she's a B.O.W., Kennedy, there's no way to avoid testing on her. The only choice you have here is how we do it...alive or dead."

Leon closed his eyes. Sherry shouted, sobbing, "Leon! Don't!"

And he opened his tired gaze as he grumbled, "...done."

The woman affirmed, "You agree?"

"...yes."

Sherry bellowed, "LEON!"

The men came to take him. The men came to take her. They dragged her away. In the hallway, Leon shouted, "...I will find you! Do you hear me!? I _will _find you!"

She kept on shouting his name until she was hoarse. They stuffed her in a van. They took her away.

She crumbled in the dark and hugged herself.

She kept whispering his name against her knees until she lost her voice completely.

She was alone with his R.P.D. badge in her palms, clutched to her like a shield, with nothing but the darkness and her own fear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part One:**

**-Under the Umbrella-**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Ghost **

* * *

**C.I.A. Biohazard Containment Compound - Whispering Pines - 2002**

* * *

Her hair was tucked behind delicate ears. On the grass, the gold of it shimmered somehow against the water that lapped the land beyond her shoulders. She was drawing on a pad while the sun turned her pale skin translucent and ethereal.

A beautiful girl - she'd left behind the awkward beginnings of puberty and become a teenager. She caught sight of him crossing the grass and laughed. He watched her leap to her feet and come for him - running, nearly ecstatic with it - and the arms she tossed around him somehow made it all ok.

He crouched and caught her, rising with her clutched to him like a teddy bear. She had the delicate build of her mother. He felt the press of her budding breasts against him as he clung to her, feeling somehow like he'd shaken loose the shackles of the things he'd left behind.

She put her lips to his ear and whispered, "...what took you so long?"

Quietly, he returned. "For the life of me...I can't find an answer."

His nose settled behind her ear. She turned her mouth to kiss his cheek and gushed, "...I missed you, Leon."

She might be the only person in the world who did. The first time, after they'd taken her, it was almost a year before he'd seen her again. They made sure he was aware he was their property, and at their will. He was trained in ways that he would never speak of, and taught things he hoped he would never use. He emerged somehow a shadow of who he'd been before his world had imploded.

They'd let him see her. For some reason, they'd let him right in when he'd come. No questions, no trouble, he was just taken to the lovely little library and left to spend time with her. She'd wept, holding him on the floor of that library. He'd asked about what they'd done to her, but she wouldn't say.

She'd convinced him, somehow, to talk about him instead. He held her against his side and they'd sat on the floor, like in the station, while he talked. She'd noticed the scar on his chin and the one behind his ear. She'd touched one and he'd found his mouth moving to simply inform her of where it had come from.

She had some kind of power over him to get him to speak. He poured out truths to a child he'd never have shared with an adult. Somehow, she was his closest confidante.

He came to see her anytime he could.

He met Claire in the street outside of his apartment once. She asked to see her. He'd laughed and turned away and told her, "Go. You're free, Claire. You're free and clear. Get your brother to help you."

Shimmering with regret, she'd called up to him on the stairs, "Why can't you just be kind to me here?"

He'd felt his jaw flex, "...you never came back."

Claire looked a little ashamed, "...I know. I tried...but Chris-"

He'd left his hand, "Doesn't matter. You took off...you just ran -and you never looked back."

Claire had taken a step toward him, "...I didn't know what-I _couldn't _have known what would happen." She was almost pleading. It had rang in the air like a bell tolling the start of a new day.

He'd gone two steps and shouted, _"They took her away! They treated her like a monster! You were all she had left in the world and you abandoned her!"_

His shouting drew attention from other people on the street. Claire had flushed bright with embarrassment. Her face had run the gamut between angry and devastated, "...her, Leon? I abandoned _her? _Or is this about _you?_"

His finger had come up and he'd pointed at her, snapping between his teeth, "_I _protected her -I did that- and you left us _both. _Don't you worry about me, sweetheart, I survived just fine without your help, and look what it got me- It got you on your goddamn knees dirtying that good name of yours to ask me for help."

He laughed and turned up the stairs again.

Claire had taken another step toward him, hissing, "How many times can I say I'm sorry!? You could have said no! You could've turned me away, but you didn't. You helped me, Leon...you helped Chris find me...you helped me. Why would you do that if you hate me?"

He paused. He'd turned back and told her, "I don't hate you, Claire -I just don't respect you...there's a big difference. I nothing you, but that little girl? She trusted you...it's not me you need to beg forgiveness from here...and we both know it."

You didn't abandon people who needed you. It was that simple. He understood family, he got it, but it didn't change anything. She wasn't allowed in until he damn well said so.

Sherry asked about her once. Without compunction, he'd lied and told her that Claire had never requested a visit. It was better that way. He'd be _damned _if he let the redhead in to be around while it suited her and have her leave again when something else called her away. He wouldn't be able to stop himself from some kind of retribution if Claire broke her heart again.

So he lied, and he kept Sherry to himself.

He hated sharing Sherry with anyone. It was an odd feeling to admit it, and know he coveted their time together in a way that was likely unhealthy and somehow cruel to her. But she was such an attentive listener. She looked at him like he had the answers to the universe. She really cared what he said. It was a good feeling to be so well worshiped.

And somehow? Holding her had started to feel like home.

He held onto her for so long that it was the sound of the doors opening behind them that finally had him setting her down in the grass again. She caught his face, hers alight with joy, and he told her, "...I have someone I want you to meet."

Surprised, Sherry stroked his hair back and remarked, "You look tired...and skinny. You're not eating?"

He laughed and cupped her face. She leaned into the touch, cuddling his hand against her cheek. He winked at her and returned, "...not like I should, but that's not why I'm here."

The beautiful creature walking toward them was, clearly. Right off the bat, Sherry felt a burst of jealousy. It surprised her, making her smile wilt around the edges. She wasn't keen on sharing him on the rare windows they were together. She didn't like another girl taking her spotlight.

As it turned out, the girl didn't take it at all. She was, it seemed, like Sherry - a B.O.W. with a heart. Manuela Hidalgo, the daughter of a drug dealer turned bioweapons dealer, and reduced to a fire sale of other people's parts. She was infected with the T-Veronica virus but had somehow bonded to it to become something more.

The moment she realized Manuela wasn't a threat, she relaxed.

He spent two days there with them while they got acquainted. The compound where they lived was set up to work like one might inside of a bubble or a dome. There was no escape, should they even attempt it, but their was fresh air and plenty of entertainment and education. Manuela and Sherry became fast friends.

They sat together on the shore by the water one day and talked about Leon.

They giggled, as young girls will do, and Manuela sighed with a crush as beautifully simple as her heart. She was enamored, it seemed, of the man who'd come to rescue her. He'd protected her at all costs, of course, which wasn't surprising.

She confided, "I did...try to kiss him once."

Sherry tensed until the other girl sighed, "He was very sweet. He patted my head."

Mollified, Sherry smiled softly. To test the theory of it, she waited until Leon came to see her again for her sixteenth birthday. He brought her a cake and wore a stupid hat and sang a song for her while he strummed his guitar.

When he had a little too much to drink, he collapsed on the couch in her tiny apartment inside the compound with a heavy sigh. "...I should lay off the Jack Daniels, am I right?"

Adoring him, Sherry took off his boots and put a pillow behind his head. He slurred a little, waving a finger in the air while she helped him out of his coat and tucked a blanket around him. "...I'm kinda a big deal, Sherry."

She paused, brows arched, and went to get him a glass of water, "Hmmm. Are you?"

"Yep." He laughed and tucked an arm behind his head, "I'm good. Did I tell you? I'm the best they've seen in a decade they said. Real potential. I could...it seems...really do-ya know..." He waved a hand around, "...this. I could this thing - whatever. I could do it _sooo good_."

An articulate man, his speech suffered under the influence of alcohol. She offered him the water glass and he took it, sipping some while she eased two aspirin into his hand. He tossed those back as she soothed, "I'm sure you are. I bet you're something in the field, huh?"

He laughed and gave her a finger gun, "...like...James Bond!"

He shouted it. Eyes twinkling, she covered his mouth with her hand and warned, "Shhh. You want them to know you're in here? They'll make you sleep in the garage."

He laughed and bobbled his brows. Her heart trembled as she slid her hand down and he whispered dramatically, "...apologies. It's bad to have boys in your room." He considered that and bellowed, "BAD TO HAVE BOYS IN YOUR ROOM! You hear me!? No boys, Sherry! No bo-"

She covered his mouth again, heart beating hard, "...you're an idiot."

He chuckled behind her hand. She warned him again, "Say nothing else, you fool, or you'll be the last boy I ever have in here."

He mumbled behind her palm, "Good! You are a baby! You don't need boys."

Hurt somehow, she gave him a murderous look, "I'm not a baby."

He sighed as her hand slid down.

He reiterated, "...boys are trouble, Sherry. They...are not worth wasting time on. You should do something that matters like..." He trailed off, looking thoughtful, "...like cure cancer!"

Sherry continued to give him a dark look until he tried a _mea culpa_, "...I'm sorry. You're not a baby. You're...a girl."

He looked so proud of himself, like he'd just given her a huge compliment. His drunken gaze flicked down her face to her chest and he remarked, "See? You got boobs and everything! Girl!"

He patted her head.

Just like Manuela, Leon patted Sherry's head like a brother might or a father or a man convinced you existed in the friend zone. She knew all about the "friend zone". She'd heard some of the scientists giggling about it one day in the cafeteria. She'd caught a glimpse of _Sex and the City _on the television in the common room. She knew that being in the friend zone was as good as death for a crush.

Leon flopped back on the couch after delivering his edict, giving her a thumbs up, "...we're good right?"

Sherry leaned down, he heard alarm bells blare in his swirling head, and she pressed her mouth against his - soft, chaste, sweet. He froze, blinking hazily at her face above him. She touched their lips together and leaned up, nodding, "...we're good now."

Her lips tasted like raspberry and cream lip gloss.

She rose and went toward her bathroom.

Leon, on his back, kept on blinking.

He was drunk. That's all this was, he was drunk. He was just blowing it out of proportion.

Sherry emerged from her bathroom in her sleeping pants and tank top. She pulled back her covers and climbed into her bed. After a few moments, she spoke into the suddenly awkward silence, "...Manuela has boobs too."

Leon blinked on the couch again, "...what?"

"Manuela has boobs too...but I'm gonna bet you didn't notice hers."

He listened to her settle down. He kept on watching the shadows above him. His eyes blinked dryly. What did that mean? What was she saying here? Had he led her on somehow trying to be there for her?

Should he back off a little bit? He didn't want her to get some kind of crush on him and disappoint her. Maybe he should just pull back here.

_Manuela has boobs too...__but I'm bet you didn't notice hers._

He wasn't sure what to take from that. He hadn't noticed Sherry's either. Not really. She was a _girl. _She was the girl he'd carried onto that train and tucked safely in a corner. She was a kid.

She wasn't anything more than that. He thought of her like a sister. She was just idolizing him because she never got out of the compound. It was harmless. He was over thinking it.

He drifted off to sleep convinced he was just drunk and being too introspective.

* * *

He woke up with a hangover that made him groan. His bleary eyes flickered open to find the room haloed in soft sunlight. She'd done her best to block it with a curtain pulled over the greatest offense.

She was always doing little things like that to make sure he was comfortable. When she saw him stir, she hurried over, speaking quietly, "There's muffins in the kitchen. I left some fresh squeezed orange juice in the juicer and warm towels in the bathroom. Take a shower, take some Advil, and ease yourself into your day, ok?"

Leon grunted, rubbing at his eyes, "...stop shouting."

Amused, voice still soft, Sherry leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, "Sorry. How could I be so inconsiderate?"

He grunted to show his acceptance of her apology.

Voice lilting with humor, Sherry whispered, "...take it easy on the whiskey next time, Mr. Kennedy."

His eyes opened and narrowed on her as she leaned back, scooping his hair off his face. He gave her a droll look, "...you could try not to look so smug."

Sherry's bright smile made him reluctantly twitch with one of his own as she cooed, "I can't...you're so cute when you're miserable." Before he could figure it out, she leaned down and hugged him. His t-shirt didn't bother to stop the press of her breasts against him. Apparently she was cool as well, since her nipples decided to salute the gesture and rub at him like they were waving.

He was betting they were pink - natural blondes always had pink nipples.

His teeth clenched. He felt like a filthy pervert for even considering it. He needed to get laid. He was clearly here hungover and losing his mind. She'd flame red and fall over if she knew what he was thinking about her.

He froze, blinking. She let go of him and rose, "Don't stay away too long, Leon, ok? I miss you when you're gone."

She opened the door of her apartment to head off to class. The sunlight hit her and went right through that white tank top she was wearing. Just like that, he could see the shadows and impressions of her breasts. Yep, _definitely _not a kid anymore.

Sherry watched his eyes flick down and her heart knocked a little as he grumbled, "...you don't have a bra you could wear under that damn flimsy thing?"

Eyes sparkling, she teased, "...it's a spaghetti string top, Leon. It would look tacky...besides...it's just Manuela and I in class anyway. Who do you think is looking? After all, I'm just a kid."

She closed her door. He flopped back on the couch. His boot tapped the arm with irritation. What was happening here? She was pressing kisses on him and wearing flimsy tops and hugging him.

It wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Not really. Not obscene or overt or flirtatious. She'd kissed him before...right? She'd kissed him on the mouth before sweetly like that...surely...at some point...he just wasn't remembering it.

Sherry didn't flirt. She wasn't that girl. She wasn't even old enough to...she was sixteen. He blinked again. She was _sixteen. _She was the age when girls tried out their flirting. She was the age when girls started to notice their bodies. She was the age when hormones kicked in and made girls think about boys.

And sex.

_AND SEX._

He spoke out loud, "Nope. No. No way. If you even _think _about her like that, your dick should rot off."

He kept on lying there, waiting for the thoughts of her turn away from her nipples and her collarbone and the curve of her throat. He was just hard up. He just needed a woman. Aloud, he reaffirmed, "A _woman..._not a _girl."_

He rose to go take a shower. He made damn sure he didn't think about raspberries and cream the whole time he did.

* * *

They called him The Ghost. It was a nickname that stuck to him like the shadows he used to cover him while he killed. He was, without question, the best they'd ever seen when it came to the silent assassination.

He was so good, that at one point, it was speculated that he might be looking at a potential bid for CIA director one day. If he played his cards right, he had a big future beyond the leash that the government had looped around his unwilling neck. All he had to do was play the game.

So he played.

While he rose through the ranks, Sherry remained on the bottom.

There were days where she would be held in a tank and have blood taken every few hours. They would sometimes turn up the heat or lower it to freezing or try to "activate the change." She didn't know what they were looking for.

At one point, a man came in with a shock rod. She'd backed up, terrified, and lifted her hands, "_What is this!?"_

The booth above the room was always dark and the voice had no face, "It's part of what we're doing here, Ms. Birkin, we need to know what you can do."

Voice vibrating with fear, she shouted, "I can't _do _anything! I'm not a monster!"

She had no skills. She couldn't stop it. The man advanced on her and she shouted, desperately, "I'll tell Leon what you're doing to me!"

The voice answered, "You won't. If you do, we'll remove him from active duty and try him for murder for all the unsanctioned orders he's been given. You want to be responsible for him spending the rest of his life in a padded cell?"

Sherry fell silent.

The voice finished, "Cooperate please."

Pathetically, Sherry pleaded once more quietly with the man who lifted the rod, "...please...please don't."

He shoved the rod into her ribs.

The pain was immediate. It was white hot. It went from her ribs to her toes and back to her scalp. She collapsed against the wall, jerking and flopping like a landed fish. She fell to her side on the floor and curled into the fetal position.

Time passed, her body stopped going into spasm. She whimpered pathetically. She waited for it to be over.

Above her, the voice commanded, "...again."

She tried, she did, but she couldn't stop the screaming when it started all over again.

* * *

Three times a week when he was in town, Sherry made dinner for Leon. He would come to the compound, he would happily let her feed him, and he would tell all the exciting stories of the things that he had done. He spoke like he was either a spy or a super hero.

He never, ever, went into details about the who or the were, she was pretty sure he couldn't, but he always made himself sound so important. She liked that. She liked that he mattered. She enjoyed listening to the wonderful things he did outside of her gilded cage.

She dreamed, sometimes, of him taking her with him on adventures. They'd go on an Africa safari or save an ambassador from an ambush in Afghanistan. He'd let her fight beside him in a bunker where they were cornered in the last dregs of a World War II era building turned into a lab in Russia. It was always exciting, her dreams, and usually followed up with a sweaty and wonderful kiss while they waited for the chopper to come to take them home.

He always brought her a gift back from his adventures. She had shelves in her apartment lined with little nick-knacks - snowglobes and sweet figurines, antiques and silly little license plates with her name on them. She had a wall of those started, from Ohio to Oman.

After dinner one night, she knew it was risky, but she had to try. So she asked, "...maybe some time, you could teach me how to...ya know...defend myself."

He'd paused with his drink halfway to his mouth and wondered, "...why?"

Sherry had smiled, "...just in case."

He liked that answer, apparently, because he agreed to teach her. They'd stood on the grass in the courtyard and he'd taught her basic maneuvers to stop an attacker. He taught her to go for the groin, the nose, the solar plexus, and the in step.

He taught her to let the arms go around her, turn her hip into them, and use her own momentum to sling them over her hip to the ground.

When he was on the ground, he advised her, "Put your foot on her my chest."

She did and he grabbed her ankle, "...I could break it. If I twist, I could snap the bone. Tell me why the boot on the chest is a bad idea?"

Sherry, mesmerized by him holding her foot, answered, "...it gives you the power to incapacitate me."

"...exactly." He did just that. He tugged her foot, pulling her off balance, and he rose up from the hips. She waited for it, felt him catch her pelvis, and he hooked his feet over her thighs and tugged her backward.

She went down, cushioned by his arms, and was suddenly underneath him on the ground. He caught her wrists, pinned them behind her back, and rolled her to her face on the grass. She shivered when his lips spoke beside her ear. "Face down, I've got you where I want you."

Sherry thought - _that makes two of us._

"I took away your arms, I've got your legs pinned between mine. Essentially, you're finished. You can't fight back...unless..."He leaned down again and his breath was warm on her ear, "...sling your head back and head butt me."

Sherry returned, softly, "I don't want to hurt you."

Touched, amused, he laughed, "...I won't let it connect, honey, I promise."

Honey.

Her heart squeezed.

She turned her face toward him instead. She invited, "...lean back down."

He did and Sherry urged, "...a little closer."

He did that too.

Genius they said, but apparently not bright about women.

She turned her head over her shoulder and kissed his chin.

He froze. She murmured softly, "...better than a head butt huh?"

Quietly, he whispered, "...I don't know how well that's gonna work against a guy tryin to kill you, kid."

To her absolute delight? He tilted his head down a little bit. Just like that, their lips were aligned instead of hers aimed at his chin. Her voice was breathless, "...don't knock it til you try it, right?"

Shit.

He let go of her and rose. Clearing his throat, face flushed, he told her, "...you did good work here. I think you've got some natural skill. We go at it a few times a week, you oughta be able to handle yourself in no time."

Quietly, Sherry rolled to her butt and tucked her knees up, looping her arms around them, "...we can go at it any time you want...I want to get to the point that I can handle you too."

He blinked.

She smiled sweetly.

Fuck.

He was a pervert. It was that simple. He heard double-entendres in every damn thing she said. She was sweet and gentle and innocent, and he was picturing her handling him all night long. Lecherous old man, clearly.

Leon put a hand down to her, "..right. We'll get there. Maybe we can...invite Manuela next time we train...so she can, ya know, get the benefit of it too."

Sherry felt a little quiver of regret, "...sure. Why not?"

"Right." He patted her shoulder. "You should get off to bed. I've gotta leave early in the morning for Madrid."

Sherry stepped into him. He could have stopped her, but he didn't think she'd understand why if he did. She might be hurt by it. Her arms went right under his leather jacket and looped, holding him. She laid her cheek on his chest and sighed, "...how long this time?"

Mouth dry, he finally lifted his hands to put them safely on her lower back, "...could be a few weeks, might be longer."

Sherry stroked her hands over his back, an old gesture, and one that currently was making his groin tight. She snuggled against him, her breasts pressing against the silk of his shirt, "...hopefully less."

He cleared his throat and gruffed, "...right, but I'll bring you a gift..as always."

Almost instantly, she soothed, "I don't need anything except you."

His tension drained away. He leaned down, nose planting in her hair as his arms curled her close. She responded, squeezing, clinging a little.

And just like that, he was home again.

He needed to stop looking for things that weren't there. She was his family, that's all this was. They were family now. Why was he making it more than that?

With regret, he told her, "...I'll be back soon, sweetheart."

And Sherry whispered, "...I'll leave the light on."

That was the thing...she always left the light on. Like a lighthouse, it was there to guide him back. He wondered what would happen if that light ever went out.

* * *

_**Post Note: APM Nork - **Thank you for such a huge compliment. I'm really happy that I've given you something that invites you into this world with me. I can't say much, but I'm working on a cleon story slowly but surely that explores my version of things in an AU world where Claire doesn't leave Leon right away post Raccoon. I hope to have it up when it's ready._

**_Xaori_**_ -I love you. Obsession remains one of my favorite stories I've ever written._

**_Ewerton -_**_ Thank you for muddling through this with me. I love how much effort you put into really following the story with me._

**_I'd thank Frank, but he talks to me all the time anyway._**

_I'm really grateful for every single person who reads anything I write. I love knowing I inspire or touch someone. If even one person gets joy from it, or sadness, or laughter...I've won._


	3. Chapter 3

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part One:**

**-Under the Umbrella-**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Hero**

* * *

**C.I.A. Biohazard Containment Compound - Whispering Pines - 2004**

* * *

"Did you hear!? He did it _all alone!"_

Manuela raced over the grass, laughing in her long coat. She dropped onto her knees beside where Sherry sat, doodling on her pad. She slapped a hand on Leon's face on the sketch pad and trilled, "All alone, Sherry! Alone! Just him...and thousands of bad guys. He was like...like...BATMAN!"

Sherry felt her heart pitter patter and sighed, "...he does have the chin for it."

They laughed, holding hands.

Sherry's hair curled down her spine, pinned back from her ears and left in a tail to her hipbones. Manuela and she often took turn braiding the others long locks. Their captors weren't' inclined to let them get hair cuts, but it was OK, the long hair made them both seem like beautiful angels in the cool winter sunlight. One pale, one dark - both with eyes as clear and blue as a cerulean sky.

She was days from her eighteenth birthday, Manuela already having already ushered forth into womanhood, and desperately clinging to the hope that Leon would show up to celebrate with her. It seemed impossible now, that he was hero of the bioterror world having just rescued Ashley Graham from the clutches of a cult and rocketed himself to stardom. He would be, without question, the man everyone wanted now.

What hope did she have of being the light in his life anymore?

She was so happy for him. He deserved the recognition. He deserved the rewards. He was worth so much than he ever gave himself credit for. She was thrilled he was about to reap the rewards for his dedication.

She was grieving inside for what she was losing. He wouldn't be just hers anymore. She'd have to share him, now, with the world. Women, beautiful and sophisticated and fascinating, would come out of the woodwork to want him. She simply couldn't compete with that.

If she'd ever had a chance of turning his eye to her, it had died in the water on that jet ski he'd sailed into the sunset along with, it seemed, the advances of the president's pride and joy. Manuela giggled, "He told her no! He probably patted her head! He is gay maybe? He doesn't like girls."

Sherry sighed, "...girls, no. He likes _women."_

Manuela nodded. "Yes. I am one now though. Maybe I'll try again."

They laughed. They hugged. Manuela was joking, probably, but if she wasn't it didn't matter anyway. Sherry suspected her gentle nudging was over now. He wouldn't come see her anymore. She was sure of it.

* * *

The knock on her apartment door on the morning of her birthday brought her out of her bedroom yawning. She scratched her belly, the tail of her long hair trailing around the hips of her sleeping pants. The top was haphazardly buttoned over her lean torso, the pretty pink plaid highlighting the paleness of her skin. It scooped low and flashed enough cleavage that she knew Manuela would laugh at her.

But it wasn't Manuela on the doorstep.

It was a cupcake, and a hero in a fantastic gray vest and red tie. The white shirt sleeves were rolled up his arms, the boots beneath black, the pants perfectly pressed. He held out the cupcake, looking pensive, and remarked, "...no way to get eighteen candles on there, but I gave it a shot."

There was a single one in the shape of an 8. Sherry lifted her eyes to his face, and he grinned, "...the thought that counts here right?"

She bypassed the candle and went right into his arms. He dropped it, surprised, and sank into her - no hesitation - he just wrapped her close. She went onto tip toe, looping her arms around his neck and his went around her waist to squeeze. Voice shaky, she confessed, "...I didn't think you'd remember."

Lips against her neck, he answered, "...I told you'd I'd never forget."

Right.

She'd forgotten, but he _never _had.

Her fingers slid into the slicked back swing of his hair, twisting a little and she told him, "...I hate this."

He laughed, holding on, "...I was going for professional."

"...you look like a hitman."

Undone, Leon lifted her against him and crossed into the apartment. He kicked the door shut behind them and set her down on the table in her kitchen. His hands scooped her bangs back and he turned her face into the light. "...fuck. You grew up."

Sherry gripped his wrists, drawing his hand down to lean her cheek against it. She looked at him like a starving thing might look at food. Her voice cracked, "...you noticed."

He smiled, dropped his lips, and kissed her forehead, confessing, "...missed ya, kid."

She hadn't seen him since her last birthday. He'd been gone, it seemed, a whole year this time. When he started to draw back, Sherry gripped his tie and tugged. It brought him against her, her legs parted to let him close, and she looped her ankles over his calves. Her arms wrapped around his chest, her cheek laid there and her ear listened to his heartbeat, and she urged, "...tell me about Spain."

He hesitated, bound by a confidentiality agreement, there were things he couldn't tell a soul - but his mouth opened and he just started talking.

As he did, her fingers roamed the scars on his arm where he'd taken a shock rod, it traveled over his neck that was still red and inflamed from burn damage, her palm slid against his back and felt the ridge of scars beneath the silky white shirt and vest. Each touch made the story fall out of his lips. He talked about the fight, the fire of it, the sheer and fierce adrenaline.

He laid his cheek on the top of her head and told her about Ashley, about the things he'd seen, about the parasite. When he mentioned it inside of him, her fingers gripped into his back and clung. To soothe her, he added, "...it's gone now, Sherry. It's out of me."

Would she be soon as well?

He wasn't the same man she'd known a year before. He'd gained something since he left. He was sure of himself, cocky and charming. He talked about women hitting on him, and the date he'd had with his handler Hunnigan. Amused, he remarked, "She snatched the check off the table and told me she didn't need a man to foot her bills. She's not...exactly...my type. I can't...uh...follow a lady if you know what I mean."

Yes. She knew. He didn't need a woman to over power him. He was just on the cusp of figuring out who he was. He needed someone to bolster him up, not challenge him. She almost told him that...and he mentioned another woman.

"...and then Ada just...she took it. She took it and she left me there to find my way off that island."

Sherry pushed him back slightly. She scanned his face. Her brow narrowed and she queried, "...she took it?"

He nodded, shrugging, "Yep. All that, and she got it anyway."

"...you let her take it."

Not a question. Leon tensed. He looked a little pink in the cheeks, "...not exactly."

Sherry tilted her head. She volleyed her gaze around his features, "..._that _exactly. You let her have it...why?"

He let go of her. Sherry let him, watching him pace away. He rolled his neck, looking guilty. Curious about it, he snapped, "It was my choice...she's-she's a valuable asset, ok? It was the right choice. She can get a vaccine started long before these government guys can even cut through the red tape and get it imported."

Sherry shook her head. She slid off the table and moved toward the refrigerator, "...alright. Eggs?"

Annoyed, he turned on her, "Hey..."

Sherry took out a carton of eggs and reached for juice. Voice snappish, he barked, "Look at me."

Brows arched, she turned to face him. He crossed around the counter in her kitchen and she ended up with her back pressed to it, eyes wide, as he snapped, "...I don't have to explain myself to you."

Sherry shook her head, remarking quietly, "...I didn't ask you to."

He licked his teeth. She kept on looking at him softly. With a scoff, he turned his back on her, "...whatever. Just-whatever. I came to take you to lunch. Forget the eggs and go...just go get ready."

Sherry rolled her lips in. She started out of the kitchen and paused, saying quietly, "...maybe you're not angry at me here, Leon. Maybe you're angry at you."

She left him alone and went toward her bedroom. She had just finished unbuttoning her sleeping top when he opened her door, snapping, "...what I do requires me to make decisions that you can't even begin to understand, ok? I made a choice. I don't need your approval."

Sherry, back to him, answered, "...of course you don't."

He tapped his boot and barked, "For fuck's sake, turn around, I feel stupid talking to your back."

He caught her arm, he spun her around, and her hands lifted to snatch the edges of her top together. It was a sharp moment for both of them. The gesture gave her an obscene amount of cleavage. Her face flamed, and adorably? His did too.

She whispered, "...you need to knock next time."

Leon said nothing.

The hand not holding her arm shifted off her other should enough so that his thumb skimmed along the top of her left breast. Her whole mouth went dry. She felt dizzy. Sherry's grip on her top eased a little and let it part. She thought, nearly swooning, maybe she should just let it fall open completely.

And so she did.

It was the bravest thing she'd ever done.

The fabric part and her hands lowered to her sides. Her throat seized twice before she could speak. The pretty pink plaid caught on the tips of her erect nipples and caught. She told him, "...I was changing...t-to shower..."

Her voice was hoarse.

His thumb traced the soft skin of her collarbone. He licked his lips. He looked transfixed.

After a moment, heart slamming, she urged, "...Leon?"

He touched the collar of her sleeping top and the fabric gaped, just a moment, just a brief moment...and he had his answer - her nipples were pink. His dick took that moment to try to jut up and poke him in the chin it go so hard. He realized she was staring at him, likely with horror, and he was thinking about peeling the shirt off her shoulders.

His gaze snapped up from her cleavage and landed on her face. He tossed her arm like she'd burned him and backed up. He nearly tripped on the carpet as he stuttered, "...j-just...I'll-I'm sorry. Shit."

He fled like the room was spilling poisonous gas around them.

Sherry was frozen. She blinked into the silence.

In the living room, he was trying to relearn how to breathe. He'd just come back from battle. He was high with victory, on the heels of taking Ada to his bed to make her whine and whimper, and full of piss and wind. That's all this was - hormones. He was just surging with hormones like a horny boy. He was making more of Sherry in that room because he was a man...she was finally grown, apparently, and he was right there. _Right there. _

Right there.

So he looked.

He didn't touch.

He looked.

There was nothing wrong with looking.

He reached down and adjusted himself taking a deep breath. He wasn't just looking, he was seconds away from touching. To the mirror by her door, he grumbled, "...look but don't touch."

Her voice almost made him piss himself in surprise, "...who are you talking to?"

Leon bumped into the couch as he whipped around, stumbled, and ended up nearly tripping over her coffee table. Sherry's eyes flew wide as he laughed, shrugged, gave her a thumbs up and his voice was two octaves higher as he blurted, "...just a pep talk, kid. It's what I do! You ready? GREAT!"

She flinched as he shouted and grabbed the door knob. He stepped into the cold and had her blinking after him. The pink on her cheeks met the smile that started on her mouth. He was _nervous. _

Her boobs had made him nervous.

It was, hands down, the single most wonderful gift he could have given her.

It made her birthday lunch _impossibly perfect._

* * *

She hadn't forgotten a single thing he'd taught her. She was swift, efficient, and quick on her feet. She ducked, dodged, and leaped in a way that impressed him. Smooth and sharp, Sherry made sure he was aware that she'd kept up on training when he'd been away.

In the gym, Manuela said from beside him, "...I'm really not good at training...I am...a bit lazy."

Leon glanced at her. She grinned. "...I don't need to impress you so much as Sherry, I think."

English wasn't Manuela's native tongue. She spoke in that adorable way that someone who struggled with the language often did. She was sweet and kind and had been a wonderful friend to Sherry. She was also, it seemed, fiercely loyal.

She said, "...do you know...the army comes here sometimes to train. They use the facilities...lots of boys in their uniforms...one..." She leaned close and gushed, "One flirts with Sherry all the time. He is..." She waved a hand in front of her face and flushed, "...he is beautiful."

Manuela sighed dramatically, "Recruit...beautiful boy. I tell her - Sherry! Go out with this boy. He is handsome, he is strong, he will make a good husband to you."

Leon licked his teeth and grunted.

Manuela grinned, "He shares his water with her. She does this..." Manuela pushed hair behind her ear and giggled.

Leon crossed his arms over his chest as Sherry ran on the mat into a triple flip, "...hmm."

"Yes. You must tell her, ok? Tell her to go with this boy. Tell her to see him. He will make beautiful babies with her."

Leon grunted again. Manuela, tongue in cheek, called, "Sherry! Come tell Leon about Piers!"

Piers. Leon scoffed, "...stupid name." He grumbled it. Manuela's eyes lit happily. She nearly wiggled in her seat. He was grumpy now. He'd been happy moments before. He was grumpy with jealousy.

It was a wonderful moment.

Sherry, huffing and red faced, trotted over. "...what?"

Manuela encouraged, "Tell Leon about Piers and how you _always _say no."

Sherry laughed, shaking her head, her blonde hair was sweaty and streaming. "He's not my type."

Leon scoffed, "...I know who he is. He's making a name for himself. A baby really, but dedicated. About your age or so right? Good kid, potential leader. Being scouted for the BSAA, I hear. Big compliment. Got himself a dead eye, so I understand."

Sherry shrugged, "He's just nice to me. That's all it is."

Leon's lip curled up, "You should go out with him. Manuela's right. Life's too short. Go have fun."

He rose. He nodded at the mat, but his arms stayed crossed like a shield. "Good work out there. Take it easy on the kick flips before you pull a hamstring."

Manuela and Sherry watched him stalk away. Sherry, feeling sad, sighed, "...he wants me to go on a date."

Manuela, grinning, giggled, "...no. He _hates _you on a date. He just doesn't want to say that."

Sherry tilted her head, considering. Was she right? Was he jealous? He was being awfully snippy. He looked grumpy. Was he _jealous_?

Her lower lip curled under her teeth and Sherry swelled with happiness.

* * *

She let Piers take her to dinner. He was her age, he was handsome, he came from a good family and had big plans to save the world. He was smart, friendly, and beautiful to look at with bedroom eyes and big full lips.

He kissed her goodnight at her door and she let herself inside to find Leon Kennedy drunk at her kitchen table.

She was in a soft pink dress with a gathered bodice and white tights over platform Mary Janes. Her hair was loose in curls around her back and shoulders. He saluted her drunkenly as she entered.

"...have a good time, sweetheart?"

Lips pursed, Sherry hung up her purse on the coat rack and answered, "It was. He's very sweet. He wants to go out again..."

Leon grunted, snorted, and laughed with ire.

She stayed facing the wall until she could keep the excitement off her face and turned around to give him a cool look. "You've been drinking."

"...noticed that huh?" He wore a navy v-neck tee and jeans. His bare feet were cute, propped on chair before him, "It's almost ten thirty."

Sherry tilted her head as she entered the kitchen and picked up the dirty plates from his dinner. She moved to the sink to wash them, "Mm-hmm. It was a date. We took a walk afterward."

He snorted again, "...nice kid."

She rolled her lips and kept her voice level, "Yes. Very nice. You're happy for me?"

His fingers drummed on the table. She felt the flare of happiness when he snapped, "...sure! Of course!" The sarcasm was so thick she could have skated on it, "You deserve to be happy."

That sounded genuine.

Sherry returned, "Thank you. So do you. Maybe you should try to call...what was her name? Ada? You had something there it seems."

He scoffed, "Ain't that kinda thing, love. It was...a one time fuck."

Ah. She winced. The harsh language wasn't his thing. He was deliberately being crude. She'd found, lately, when he was upset with her he erred into verbally uncouth. Pursing her lips, Sherry replied, "I see. Was it good?"

"...oh, yeah...I got what I wanted."

Then why did he sound so angry?

Quietly, Sherry murmured, "...that's good. As long as you're happy."

He scoffed again, "Happy...right. I'm on top of the world. Just a guy with everything. I'm a shoe in for a job in a powerful office at the top of my profession. I just fucked the woman of my dreams...I'm..." He laughed and his voice lowered, "...I'm fucking_ great_."

Sherry nodded and turned away from the sink. "I'm proud of you. You've...you've really made something out of the horrible beginning you had. You should be proud of _yourself, _Leon."

He snorted, "...right. Blackmailed into being a bad ass. I'm an inspiration to lapdogs everywhere."

She sighed sadly, "...I think you should try to get some sleep. I'll get you a blanket."

Sherry crossed by him. His hand shot out and looped around her wrist. She paused, he tugged her to a stop, and he set down his drink to stare at the wall across the room. Softly, he urged, "...I'm sorry...I'm-I'm sorry. I'm being a jackass. Just..."

Her hand lifted and settled on the side of his face. She stroked him, tilting his countenance up to her with the other hand that she slid into his hair. Quietly, she assured him, "I'm not going anywhere. You think you can scare me away with anger? Why are you so mad, Leon? If you have it all...why are you so mad?"

He tugged on her wrist. She felt her heart knock as he tugged her close enough to rest his forehead against her belly. Touched, Sherry tunneled her hands in his hair as he slurred, "...I think I'm letting you down."

Moved, Sherry confessed, "...never. _Ever. _Hey..." She tilted his face up to her. She said it again, with feeling, "...not ever. You can never let me down, Leon...not even if you fail yourself."

His hands looped around her hips. He brought her closer until he could hug her around the waist and lay his ear on her belly. She cupped his head to her, eyes closed and adoring him. He urged, gently, "...tell me what I can do here...what do you need?"

Without waiting, she told him, "...take me with you."

Surprised, he leaned back and she nodded, cupping his face again, "Take me with you on a mission. Please. I...I need to get out of here, just for a little while. Take me with you. I can handle it...didn't Derek tell you? I enlisted...I'm an agent in training."

Jesus Christ...what had he done? She'd followed him into the business he'd been blackmailed into to protect her. He wanted her kept out of this. He didn't want her involved. He didn't want her any where near it...ever.

How had he managed to miss the moment she'd jumped right over him and become an agent?

How did he stop her?

If he couldn't, how did he protect her?

With or without him, she was going to get missions. She was in it now. The only thing he could do here was make sure she was trained by the right person. What he could teach her just might keep her alive. He had to make sure it was him she learned under.

He had to take her along to protect her.

He should tell her no. She needed more training before she was field ready. He should say no.

But his mouth said, "...done."

Sherry leaned down. He closed his eyes and her lips landed on his forehead. She murmured, softly, "...thank you, Leon...for everything."

She let go of him.

He sat there as she left the room to get him a pillow.

No sneaky little kiss this time. She'd just planted one on his forehead. She'd had a date. He was drunk. He'd just risen to the top of his profession and become a legend. He was on top of the world.

He listened to the bathtub and the water striking porcelain.

What was it about this moment that felt raw for him? He was the most wanted man in the business. Everybody wanted him. Why did he care about what some little skinny urchin he'd once rescued in a dying city thought?

Was he really looking for her to pump up his ego and swoon around him?

Was it that simple?

Was he trying to become a legend to impress Sherry?

Aloud, he said, "...I'm trying to earn the faith she has in me."

And there it was. The truth was nearly as pathetic as the push behind it. He'd taken natural ability and leveraged it into being the best damn hero in the world...just so she'd know he'd never stop protecting her. She was, it seemed, his family.

Like a sister.

He listened to her splash in the bathtub. He pictured the pale curve of her breasts and those pink nipples in the frothy water. He shifted in the chair and sighed. So, not a sister. Not even close.

Rising, he moved down the hallway, put his back against the wall beside the bathroom door that she'd left open and slid to the floor. One arm draped over the knee he drew up and his head flopped back against the wall as her voice called, "...Leon?"

He grunted.

She laughed softly, "You don't have to stay out there. Come in and talk to me."

He laughed now, harshly, "...I don't think so, kid. You're all grown up apparently. It's not ok to let strange old dudes in your bathroom anymore."

He heard her shift in the water, "...you're not strange."

Leon scoffed.

"...and you're not old."

Sighing, he grumbled, "...old enough to know better..." She splashed in the water. He bumped his head back against the wall and gritted his teeth, adding, "...stupid enough to do it anyway."

To his surprise, Sherry called, "...talk to me at least, so I don't feel so lonely in here."

He inhaled a sharp breath. He should leave. He should just get up and leave. She was naked in there. She was naked and soapy and slippery and wet. He should leave. Instead...he just started talking.

In the tub, Sherry listened smiling softly. He wouldn't come in. He just sat out there and talked. He didn't even peep on her.

The great Leon Kennedy - the man who'd slaughtered over a thousand men himself. The Ghost - the guy who didn't exist. He was a specter, a phantom, a superhero that saved the day and disappeared again.

She wondered if anyone in the world really knew him, but her. She knew him. He was just a man with her. He was just a vulnerable, sweet, incredibly insecure man looking to make a difference in a world that worked to make sure he never could. He was a cop - he just wanted to serve and protect.

He just happened to be fucking incredible at it.

He was a guy who believed in the goodness of a woman who'd likely used him - first for the sample she'd taken, next for the sex - and really believed she'd do the right thing. He was a guy who didn't cop a feel when your shirt fell open and didn't peep on you in the tub. He got drunk and jealous of harmless boys who dated you and talked about everything he was feeling with a sense of relief.

He just trusted her.

And she _adored _him.

He wasn't a hero, he was a rookie bound to a chair just trying to do the right thing. Fail her? She would spend the rest of her life trying to make sure he understood that you only failed when you stopped trying.

Leon would _never _stop trying.

When he quieted, she thought he'd fallen asleep and rose from the tub. She looped a towel around herself and looked into the hallway. Not asleep, nope, he was just sitting there watching her.

She rolled her lower lip her under teeth, hesitated, and finally slid down the wall beside him. He lifted his arm, she curled damply against his chest and laid her cheek on his shoulder. His leaned against her head.

Quietly, he confessed, "...I got the world watching me now, kid. How do I do this and not fuck it up?"

Sherry looped an arm behind his back. She lifted her mouth and put it beside his ear and instructed, "...easy...just treat the world like you do me."

His head shifted. Her smile curved. Their lips brushed as he grumbled, "...how's that?"

She whispered, "...like it's worth dying for."

Jesus.

He waited for it. She leaned up a little and touched their lips together. He didn't move, frozen, and they held that look until his phone started buzzing in his pocket. Sherry leaned back, eyes sparkling.

He should get up. He should leave.

He just kept sitting there beside her while they stared at each other.

She gave him too much credit. He wasn't that good a guy. He wasn't that fucking noble.

But he didn't kiss her. He didn't grope her.

He just sat there holding on.

So maybe he was a good guy after all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part One:**

**-Under the Umbrella-**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Outbreak**

* * *

**Decontamination Area -Harvardville, 2005**

* * *

The helicopter circled twice as it made a slow descent. Beside him in the darkness, Sherry looked pale but determined. When the call had come, he'd taken the opportunity to give her what she'd wanted.

He'd let her tag along on a mission.

This seemed fairly straight forward - an outbreak on a plane, an airport over run, but rapid response seemed to have stopped it from spreading to the town beyond. There was a containment team on site, potentially police special tactics and rescue, and minimal exposure. They'd called for him, talking about people still trapped in the airport. Before they could sanitize, they'd need the survivors extracted.

It was as simple of a mission as he'd ever come across and the perfect time to let Sherry get her feet wet.

He'd pushed her hard since she'd asked him to. He'd spent any time he could training her. He'd knocked her down, thrown her, chased her and tackled her. He'd treated her like a monster would. She'd been bruised and determined. She'd hurt him plenty, hitting him hard enough she'd left him crumpled in the gym once trying to see if she'd fractured his sternum.

Horrified, she'd grabbed for him, terrified and he'd told her, gruff and pained, "...good..._good. _You lose your gun, you can handle it. In the future? Give me the fucking body armor when we train."

She'd laughed, shaking with fear that she'd broken something in him, and curled against him where he'd knelt. Undone, he'd held her and promised, "...honey...I've had worse...way, way worse."

Sherry had clung and told him, "...not from me. Never from me...Leon, I would _die _if I hurt you."

He'd closed his eyes and absorbed that. He'd put his nose behind her ear to smell her. _He'd_ die if he got her hurt. He'd never forgive himself.

And yet here they were. He was taking her into danger. He was taking her into the thick of it. He was going to risk her to protect her. It was asinine. The thing was? She was _good. _Maybe the best he'd ever seen besides himself. She was, in her own way, made to do this.

The best he could do now was make sure she did it right.

The blades kicked up grass and dirt as the big black chopper settled down on the cold ground. Leon went out first, offering a hand to Sherry to help her down beside him. She sort of ducked as she ran toward the staging area which made his mouth twitch in a smile.

They had just opened the flap on the main security tent to hear voices mockingly remark, "-what kind of stupid shit is this!? _One _guy? What do they think he can do...fart fireballs from his ass?"

Without preamble, Leon returned, "...I tend to do that from my dick."

The faces turned toward them. Sherry assessed them easily enough, after all, stereotypes existed for a reason. There was a rather grim looking man with an insulting smirk, chewing on nicotine gum and with the stench of old cigarettes on his sallow face. There was a nervous looking Asian girl in the corner packing magazines into an assault bag. There was a skinny black guy at a map taped to the wall of the tent, flipping up a blueprint of the building and looking back at the map.

And?

There was a BEAUTIFUL, in all capital letters, woman at the center of the strategic command table watching them with big, big, big blue eyes. What was that face? Sherry felt her lips purse as Leon crossed right to her. What was that face?

Oh, yes, that was it - Angelina Jolie.

Annoyed, she didn't even listen at first as Leon engaged the angry fellow in a bit of back and forth. The woman was watching him with a flush on her cheeks. Sherry thought, who could blame her here? He was something.

She could also see the complaints from the angry guy - Leon didn't look anything at all like an agent.

The leather jacket, the long hair, the lack of uniform or identification clipped to him. He looked like a rockstar playing hero. It might have been funny, if Sherry wasn't aware that he was probably capable of killing everyone in this room in less than four moves.

The man by the wall jeered, "Seriously, Jack, I think the Titanic is sinking on the other side of town. Nobody needs you to float on a door by them. You and Rainbow Brite over there look like the top of a wedding cake. We need someone who fights, not fluffs up before a porno."

Leon gave him such a witheringly cold look that even the man shifted where he sat like his buns were freezing. He cleared his throat, "...what can you possibly do, dude?"

Leon studied the blueprint and glanced at the map. Sherry watched his face and could almost imagine the numbers shooting behind his eyes. Like a human calculator, he saw, he assessed, and he had a whole plan in about three seconds.

He said, voice low, "Just you two - in and out. Stay close, shut up, and follow directions."

He turned toward the door and the beautiful girl called, "...who the hell do you think you are?"

Without turning back, he informed her, "The guy who makes sure the Titanic doesn't sink in the first place. You have five minutes."

Sherry hurried up beside him as he crossed the dark grass and they heard the first sounds of people crying and survivors being treated. A whole tent was erected to sanitize and decontaminate potential infected. People were paraded naked through heavy sprays of chemicals and escorted out to wait in the cold in just a blanket. The erected fences kept the masses out, reporters and flashing lights inviting the world in to see the mess via the media. News helicopters circled in the sky, shining lights and taking footage of what was probably the worst day of these poor people's lives.

Sherry bristled with anger and muttered, "...vultures."

Leon glanced down at her and nodded, "Par for the course, kid. Let's find the idiot in charge."

Her brows arched, "...idiot?"

"Oh, yeah. It's always an idiot." He turned into a tent to find a tall, angry faced soldier barking orders. The second he saw them, the man bellowed, "Civilians stay beyond the fence line! Marshall! Clear these fools out of here."

Leon, smirking, mused, "See? Idiot."

The second the first man touched his arm, Leon informed him, quite calmly, "Take that off before you try to fire that pistol on your hip without fingers."

The man retreated, looking surprised, and Leon called, "I'm Special Agent Kennedy, _USSTRATCOM_. You're relieved from duty. From this point on, you report to me. I want to establish a perimeter at the one hundred yard line and set up roadblocks at the main exits out of town. Get a team of men to the WilPharma facility and lock it down. When I'm finished here, I'll come there for a cursory inspection."

The puffed up soldier gave him a cold look, "On whose authority?"

Leon, looking bored, told him, "The President of the United States...but I'm guessing you already know that."

As the man grumbled and turned away to follow orders, Sherry murmured, "...not the boy in the uniform anymore, are you?"

He glanced down at her. His face wasn't sweet and happy. He didn't look soft and tender. He looked mean somehow, cold and unflinching. His voice was as bitter as the wind whipping over the bodies shivering beyond the tent, "I haven't been that boy in a long time."

She mourned him.

And he added, "Gear up. Meet me out front in five minutes."

Surprised, she queried, "You don't need any gear?"

He shrugged and patted the gun in the holster at his side, "I'm good, Agent Birkin. I got everything I need right here."

She had the strangest urge to be jealous of the way he touched that gun. The thing was - she was pretty sure he was just as gentle with that weapon as he was with her. She didn't recognize the cold guy in the tent barking orders and leveling people with his icy demeanor. Who was that guy?

She was fascinated, much like a mouse is with the snake in the grass that readies to strike. She wanted to see what he'd do if she moved too fast. She wanted to see which was the real him. She suspected, somehow, it was both.

She had a flash of a feeling as they waited for the tactical wearing two man team of the beautiful woman and the angry man to join them on the helicopter. She wanted to slide her hand over and see if Leon would hold it. He was checking his weapon and studying the layout of the building on his phone, flipping through images and looking pensive and resolute.

When he flicked his gaze between two particular grainy images, his brow furrowed. Sherry reached over and skimmed a finger down the frown between his brows. "...it can't be that bad."

Surprised, he turned his head toward her. She smiled. He didn't. Her thumb dipped against his chin, "...penny for your thoughts?"

He leaned toward her and spoke coolly above the din of the blades swirling, "...don't do that."

She felt her smile wilt a little as she answered, "...do what?"

Shaking his head, he leaned closer and his lips brushed beside her ear, "...don't touch me like that."

Oh.

Her chest seized a little. Embarrassed, she nodding rapidly, "..r-r-right. Right. Sorry. It's-you're right. I shouldn't have-I won't again."

Shaking his head again, licking his teeth, he leaned back and added, "...it's not personal here, Sherry. This is business. It's my job. Don't confuse the two. You want to do this? Know where the lines are."

Of course.

Of course he was right about that.

She settled her face into cool lines like his. She leaned away from him and nodded. Her lips sealed and she adjusted the straps on her tactical vest she wore. She looked away, face flushed.

He felt bad, he did, but he didn't. This was work. It was what he did. He had to maintain that professional distance here. He couldn't be the guy with the beautiful blonde girl stroking his angry brow and touching his fucking butt chin. He just-he couldn't do that. They'd laugh him off the face of the Earth. He'd never be taken seriously. He _had _to maintain his composure.

It was weird, but the flash of guilt over it irritated him. He was never like that with her. He'd always let her soften him, but she'd chosen this business too now. She had to know it was hard, it was merciless, and it didn't leave room for hugs and kisses.

His job was to keep her alive here, not to preserve her feelings.

She didn't glance at him again as the other two climbed on the chopper. He felt bad, a little, but it was better that way. He wanted her focused, not worried about his grumpy feelings.

Sherry sat still and stiff as he gave instructions to the two with them - Angela and Greg. Greg, a typical alpha male douchebag, snickered and rolled his eyes and seemed bored. Angela listened, intently, looking at Leon the way one might Jesus whilst he gave his sermon on the mound.

Annoyed, Sherry looked down at the rooftop where they prepared to repel. She couldn't stop the sting of shame from him admonishing her. She felt twelve years old again, told by a parent to behave themselves when they were acting unruly. She had a chip on her shoulder as she superseded him out of the chopper and repelled down the line to the roof.

She felt him give her a cold look and ignored it, angling toward the roof entrance to the airport. Leon shouldered her aside, giving her a narrow look, and gripped the doorknob, calling above the wind, "...stay close. Stay alert. Stay focused. Do not waste ammunition - it only takes one shot to put down the infected."

Angela called, "...put down?"

Sherry answered, "...yes..you have to shoot them in the head."

Greg called, "Whoa whoa! You want us to kill sick people!?"

Leon shook his head, "They're not sick, they're already dead. Give 'em peace, or get the hell outta here."

Greg cleared his throat and finally nodded. Angela murmured, "...dead?"

Sherry informed her, "It's a virus. It reanimates your body, but you die first. Make no mistake...they're already dead. The only people left are the ones on that 911 call you showed us."

Leon shook his head. Greg snickered, "Gossip after it's done, ladies, we got lives to save."

Leon opened the door and cleared inside, shifting through the heavy darkness. His light bobbled as they moved in a 2 by 2 pattern down the staircase, covering each other on each level. Angela and Greg listened well until they reached the level where the survivors were holed up.

The moment they heard the moaning and sounds of scuffling, they apparently lost their fucking marbles. Angela started running toward the sounds. Leon called after her and Greg grabbed him, informing, "We're here to save people dude, not kill th-"

Leon elbowed him so hard in the sternum that Greg went to his knees with a grunt and Leon, pursuing Angela, snapped, "Don't fucking touch me again."

Sherry followed him, backing up and informing Greg, "...that's not people...that's the song of the infected."

By the time she reached where Angela had run, the damage was done. She was struggling with a zombie in a women's suit trying to eat her face. Leon kicked it, put it down with a clean shot to the brain, and grabbed Angela by the arm. He slung her to her feet and the light bobbled over his face. Cold or not, his face in that moment was nothing but rage.

Angela whispered, "...I'm sorry...I-I thought she was hurt."

Leon hissed, "She's not hurt, you fool, she's _dead."_

Softly, Sherry warned, "...Leon...we need to go..."

In the darkness, the dead were rising. Office workers emerging from shadows to lumber and groan. They moaned and shuffled, tumbling over desks and lurching toward their dinner. Angela, horrified, backed up with a gasp, "...what the hell.."

Rotting faces, dripping remains, bodies missing limbs and broken frames that staggered and moaned with hunger. Leon picked them off quickly, limiting the danger. Sherry grabbed for Angela when the stupid woman attempted to shoot one in the knee cap to incapacitate her.

Sherry's angry voice rolled around the dark, "...THE HEAD! The head! How hard is that!?"

She shot the woman in the head to make her point.

Angela whimpered, "...she...she was...how...?"

Sherry slapped her face and made her gasp, giving her a harsh edict, "Get it together or go back to the fucking roof! We don't need another victim here!"

She didn't see the twitch of Leon's mouth or the tossed look of pride. She didn't get a chance to see much, because as if Angela's complete break down wasn't bad enough, the idiot Greg made it worse. He stepped in front of them and whooped like cowboy about to ride the bull. He lifted his gun and plowed down bodies in a spray of gunfire that popped with sparks in the darkness.

"Freaks! _Yeah! Whooo_!"

His heavy assault rifle tore them apart, bisecting limbs and splitting torsos. He simply fired into the crowd with a simpletons glee. He didn't go for a single head shot. He was too busy laughing like a loon or a stupid child in an arcade. He was so busy firing around in the dark that he wasn't paying attention when one grabbed his ankles, jerked, and tossed him to his back on the floor.

Greg shouted in horror and barely got his hands up to lift the emaciated woman off him. Her teeth snapped three inches from his nose. He let out a high pitch call for help - and his face was splattered in coagulated chunks of old blood.

_Plop plop plop._

He blinked up in horror as Leon jerked him to his feet and mostly threw him out of the office. He slammed the door, jerked his head, and they all started running. When they cleared through into an empty corridor, he grabbed Greg by the vest and shoved him into the wall so hard it echoed. Greg grunted and Leon slammed him once more to make a point, "...the head, you trigger happy dipshit, the _head. _Maybe you think I'm just meant to stand here and look pretty, but the next fucking time you risk my life playing Bionic Commando in there, I'm gonna leave your stupid ass on the floor to die."

Without looking back, he moved forward and Sherry took up the rear. The small band of them hurried toward the VIP lounge where the emergency call had originated. There was a rustle of sound and they rounded the corner in time to hear Leon command, "...get down!"

His gun went off three times and Sherry joined them to hear, "...oh my _god..."_

A pair of arms went around her. She froze, tensed, and realized too late who it was. After a moment, her arms lifted and she gasped, "...Claire!?"

Apparently, they'd discovered who'd made the phone call to the outside.

* * *

Sherry stood in the cold listening to the shouting inside of the tent. They'd managed to get out - with a fat senator and his entourage in tow- losing Greg along the way to the horde. Angela was off somewhere licking her wounds while Claire and Leon were in the middle of a shouting match inside the medievac tent. Apparently, they felt this was a good time to rip the other a new asshole.

Sherry had realized, maybe too late, why Claire had been too happy to see her. She'd tried, it seemed, multiple times to come to the compound and visit, but Leon had made damn sure she was kept outside. Apparently, he had control on Sherry's visitors.

Claire's voice echoed against the sounds trucks arriving with T-Virus vaccines for the those still waiting in the cold. "-you had _no right - no right to keep me away!"_

His voice was calm by comparison, "I had _every _right! You? You have _none. _You made damn sure of that when you walked away."

There was a scuffling sound and Claire's voice came again, "You arrogant, smug, insensitive _bastard! _I _loved _that little girl!"

His laughter was like broken glass, "Loved? Love?! You _abandoned _her! She had no one! She'd lost everything! You could have left me, Claire...but you should have taken _her!"_

Claire's voice broke a little with old rage, "I _couldn't! _Chris was in danger! You think I'd take her into more danger? I thought she was safe with you! I thought you'd protect her!"

Oh, Sherry shivered, and it wasnt just the cold. She'd never heard his voice like that, nearly growling with rage, "...I _did..._and I still am. You don't get it, Claire. You never did...I don't care what you want. I don't care how sorry you are. You stay away from her. She lost _everything _that day...and you won't hurt her again."

Claire's voice came back, shaking with hurt, "...they took her under _your _watch, Leon, not mine. Ask yourself again who failed her."

Sherry felt her heart seize as his voice struck around that ten like the wind that tried to tear it down above them, "I was there...I was wounded. I traded my _life _away to protect that girl. You? You _ran. _You wanna point fingers here? We both know where your finger goes, Claire. We both know who failed her."

Claire's harsh breathing made Sherry tremble before she spoke once more, "...it's not your choice. She's not a child anymore. It's not your choice anymore."

"...try me. Push me...and find out."

There was a telltale smack of skin to skin. Sherry jerked, jumping a little. She was almost positive that Claire had slapped him. She waited for the retribution, but all was quiet now.

After a handful of seconds, his final edict was spoken in a grumbling roll, "...feel better? Doesn't change anything. The person you want to slap down has never been me...and we both know it."

The tent flap was thrown open and he ducked out into the cold. Sherry stared straight forward. They didn't look at each other. They both heard Claire wreck something in the tent with anger.

With a tone like a bear talking, he commanded, "Follow me."

Sherry said nothing, she just obeyed. She fell into step behind him. He circled around behind the main tent into the dark. Heart hitching, she let him turn on her and take her arms. He pinned her to the wall of the heavy canvas tent and instructed, harshly, "...you're not to see her. Do you understand me? She's not a part of your life anymore. I made that choice..." He trailed off and tried again, "I made the right choice. Keep it that way. I won't let her come in and mess with your head. I won't let you get close to her so she can aband-"

Her hands caught his face. She tugged him down and put her forehead against his. He was instantly silent, breath streaming white in the cold as Sherry informed, "...stop. I'm not angry...just..."

Her face turned up. She let their noses brush. He inhaled sharply but didn't stop her as she brushed her mouth over his and finished, shaking, "...stop."

His hands loosened their grip on her arms to just hold her. His erect carriage relaxed and he let her forehead take the weight of his for just a moment. Just a second. Just a breath.

Then he set her away and backed up. "-let me finish up here and see-"

The explosion turned the world to fire and heat. He caught her so quick she couldn't do anything but stare and covered her against the wall of the tent with his body. She clung, face in his chest, hands curled into the vest he wore beneath the jacket. His hands pressed her into him, one at the back of her head to hold her there.

She smelled the crackling flames. She heard the screaming. Someone was shouting for a medic.

The darkness was lit in flickering shadows and destruction.

He leaned back to see her face. Sherry nodded, watching the orange and gold make his perfect face somehow immortal, "...go on. Go. I'm right behind you."

He let her go. She stood for a moment as he hurried toward the noise. Her hand lifted to her chest and pressed to calm her heart. He'd stopped Claire. He'd done it, not to hurt her, but to protect her.

She should be angry...but she couldn't do anything but watch the flames and bask in the warmth of being something he loved enough to protect, even if it meant she hated him for it.

Somehow a disaster had healed her in a way he'd never begin to understand.

* * *

It was all gone.

The entire stockpile of T-Virus vaccines was destroyed.

Immediately, fingers started wagging. They pointed at the Senator who'd gone national television to talk about how dying was just a part of the cost they'd pay for biological weapons necessary to defeat their enemies. They it at TerraSave, and Claire, for protesting and blocking WilPharma from producing the vaccine because they were blamed for outbreaks in Africa and said to be testing T in order to test the vaccine. They pointed the well known activist Curtis Miller for his involvement in the on going protests involving the truth about Raccoon City. It was speculated he'd set the blaze to teach them a lesson and reveal their truths. They pointed the finger at the fascist dictator General Grande and the outbreaks spreading across India.

They pointed it at Leon for not having everyone inoculated on the spot the moment the outbreak occurred.

It was a veritable pupu platter of blame.

As if, at any point, any of it was his fault.

When Angela grabbed his vest to shake him, Sherry put a flat hand in her chest, pushed her back, and blocked him. Surprised, he stood there while the small blonde retorted, "You want to point fingers of blame, point them at Greg. He was a fool. He took unnecessary risks to prove how big his balls were. He's dead because he was an idiot. Don't touch Agent Kennedy again."

Claire, brows arched, felt the heat from the blaze over her face. She turned her gaze to Leon, didn't like at all what she saw, and tightened her jaw. When Sherry moved to bring the little girl to her Aunt who'd been admitted into the perimeter to collect her, Claire stepped close to him and spit, "...she's a _child."_

He felt his lip curl and he quipped, "Is she? You just made sure I knew she was an adult back there. Make up your mind."

Claire drilled a finger into his chest and warned, "You keep your hands off her, Leon. She's not some stupid spy for you to roll around on top of. You want to protect her? Don't get her covered in all the shit you've got yourself covered in. Walk away, before she finds out who you really are."

The cold off him was almost as bad as the wind as he returned, and his hand came up to grip her upper arm where she jabbed him, "You don't know a damn thing about me, Claire. You wanna believe the rumors, you go right ahead, but I will never let my world touch her. Ever...or yours either. Go do your goddamn job and stay out of the way."

He flung her arm away.

In the shadows, the person watching them spoke quietly into their phone, "...I think you should look at the Redfield girl as a potential problem...as far as I can tell, I just saw a pretty heated lovers quarrel...and you were right...he's your dragon at the gates...you're gonna need to get rid of Kennedy as quietly as possible."

The voice in their ear buzzed until they answered, "...got it. I'll see what I can do about the Redfield girl."

Fifteen minutes later, Claire Redfield joined Frederic Downing on a trip to his lab to see about anything left of the T-Virus vaccine he'd helped engineer that was destroyed in the blast. Guilt over her companies blockage of the vaccine from being distributed under the guise of defense pushed her into action to help correct that wrong. She went with him under the umbrella of redemption.

Leon was talking to a handful of dignitaries when his phone rang. He'd left it sitting on the table beside the reports he'd been reading. Surprised, she glanced down at it. The number had a Raccoon City area code.

Plucking it up, she answered.

Claire's voice poured out, "...Leon...you need to get to WilPharma now...they've-it's the G-Virus. They have it. They were making a vaccine but...that fat pig Davis just called Downing and told him to dump it."

Sherry spoke into the quiet, "We're coming. Claire...you're sure?"

"I'm sure...wait...what the fu-"

The line went dead on the heels of massive burst of static. Sherry looked over in horror as Leon crossed toward her. "Sherry...what is it?"

"...she...it was...Claire..."She shook her head, "...I lost her."

Angry or not, he still moved fast. They ran for his dark sedan left near the road. They didn't say a word. What was it that still made Claire one of them after all this time?

Was it surviving Raccoon? Did it, somehow, bond you forever even when you'd rather say goodbye?

The minutes ticked off. The world rushed by in smoke and starlight. Sherry felt a shiver of fear. The G-Virus...the very thing in her blood...what would happen to Claire if she were infected?

Would they have to put her down?

She felt his hand close over hers. Surprised, she didn't look at him as he gripped it. He'd said don't touch him. He'd told her that, but it seemed somehow he just...kept breaking his own command.

Without a word, they raced toward the smokey Goliath that held the very virus that had ruined all their lives - and prayed the woman waiting there was still alive to fight it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part One:**

**-Under the Umbrella-**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Aftermath**

* * *

**Motel 6- St. Charles, Missouri- 2005**

* * *

Sherry lay in the dark while the lights from the passing cars on the road skimmed over her and illuminated her face. She watched the fan circle slowly; a sad limp along a tired surface pebbled in popcorn style lumps to prevent cracking. She licked her dry lips and let her heavy lids lower slightly until the lashes fanned across her cheeks. They were lovely, full, and tipped in blonde like the hair that spread across the pillow behind her head.

She'd survived her first mission.

Better than that, she'd managed to save the day in her own way. She'd first helped a wounded Claire to safety so she could go get back up, and then she'd returned to stand like a shield against the mutated Curtis Miller - the activist turned revenge-seeking madman. He'd turned into something...he'd turned into her father in a way, the G-Virus warping his DNA until he'd risen above them roaring his rage while his humanity eroded away. He'd slaughtered the troops who'd been trained, it seemed, to fight things just like him. He'd plowed through them and left blood and guts strewn through the lower lab level like pungent pieces of a pinata that had burst and rained down death.

He'd come at them roaring. The world had tried to collapse around them. It was all fire and fear and the smell of incineration as they'd run for their lives and barely survived the fallout.

The moment she'd stepped in front of Leon, he'd nearly ripped her arm off trying to pull her out of the way, but the claws of that thing had spitted her. It had gone into Sherry's belly and out her back with a pop and burst of muscle and blood. She'd been lifted, limp with pain, and it brought her toward it to finish her off. She didn't think, even if she laid here for a hundred years, she'd ever forget the roar Leon had made at her selfless sacrifice.

She'd reared back to punch straight into that bulbous eye on mutated Miller's disgusting shoulder. Her strength put her fist through the mass of it and made the monster wail as it tossed her away. She'd taken a chunk of the eye with her, flying like a dart, loosed from the claws in a swirling arc of blood as she went.

She'd landed, rolling, and found herself scooped up like she was nothing.

The panic on his face would probably haunt her forever. As he'd clutched her, running from the thing that roared for her demise in revenge, she'd whispered - covered in blood - burning with fever, "...wait."

He'd grabbed for the front of his vest and the powder there. She gripped his wrist and squeezed, voice harsh, "I said _WAIT."_

"..._you're fucking bleeding to death!"_

His shout echoed all through the lab. Miller was finding his composure to pursue them. The incineration timer told them sixty seconds. Sherry gasped, "...no...I'm _healing."_

She screamed as the skin knitted. He grabbed her up against him to hold on like hugging her might transfer the pain. The timer informed him the place would go up in flames in thirty seconds.

He just...picked her up and ran.

Where?

She held on while she healed, silent now as the first wave of pain erased anything but the blood making bandages of flesh to cover the wounds. Her internal organs bloomed back to life, filling in holes and making her flesh fiery with power. They had fifteen seconds when she shouted, "_Let me go! Leon!"_

He dropped her to her feet. She grabbed his hand and jerked. She should have known what he was doing. There were reasons he was a genius at this job. The world ignited, he bodily threw her forward, and they plummeted together into the cold water that waited beneath the warping steal.

Miller's mutated shape was absorbed in flame before he could reach them. He wailed, they sank, swirling down, down, down...and floating there in the cold comfort of silence. The muffled sounds of the explosion reverberated in the somehow peaceful water. Before she could think about the fact that she hadn't held her breath, his hand caught the back of her neck and pulled her to him.

Her mouth opened, her eyes frozen, and the air from his mouth filled hers.

She thought - _this is likely as close as you'll ever get to his kissing you._

So she just closed her eyes and floated there in the cold water, somehow, someway, happy to be hiding from a blazing inferno above them. His hands cupped her face, her arms floating freely because they wanted, rather desperately to grab hold and see what the inside of his mouth tasted like. Professional, he'd told her, and so she was. She didn't taste anything but the air he blew into her to keep her alive.

She'd gotten brave once more, attempting to tackle the thing that was Miller and take them both into the abyss as the lab attempted to purify itself and seal off any contaminated areas. She'd dangled, clinging to the hand of the man who couldn't seem to understand the concept of _just let go. _She shouted, "...you have to let go of me!" Miller dangled, his serpentine tongue wrapped around her boot, "You have to _let go, _Leon! Don't you get it?! The world doesn't need me...but it needs _you! _Stop trying to save me and save _yourself! _

And he'd simply held on with a single phrase she'd never forget, "...if you don't save one life...you'll never save _any._"

She dangled, mesmerized, as he'd fired off a single round and sent the thing that sounded and smelled and stank of the same virus as her father down into the swirling flames. When the lab sealed and the world stopped burning, they'd tumbled to the ground with him making damn sure he took the brunt of the fall. Always, it seemed, the hero.

They'd arrested Frederic Downing, scoring a confession that would move things forward in the fight he'd given up his life for. Downing confessed to stealing the T and G-Virus from Raccoon before the fall of the city. He admitted to engineering a vaccine, and predicating outbreaks around the world, in order to drum up business for a sale. He'd been peddling it, it seemed, to anyone with the cash to make it worth the risk.

He admitted to replicating it multiple times before he'd given over the originals to the fat Senator they'd saved in the airport.

The day was a victory in one hand - they'd kept Harvardville from a full-scale outbreak. They'd apprehended both Downing and Senator Davis in the midst of a black market sale of bioweapons. They'd lost only a handful of men during the battle to keep the lab from imploding. Those who'd died on the plane hadn't died in vain, their story would hopefully go on to stop future outbreaks from leveling cities with the same virus. They'd shed light on bio-terror for the world with a very public outbreak and the eyes of a nation to see it.

It was a win. In their business, it was a big one. Claire had been wounded but the reason they'd contained the lab in time. They'd stood on the beach and said goodbye. She'd tried, just once, to hug Sherry.

The blonde had shaken her head and told her, "...it's not what he wants."

Surprised, Claire returned, "Who cares what he wants? He's not your father."

Sherry had glanced at him where he stood near the helicopter watching them with a cool glare. She'd shaken her head and sighed, "...no. He's my _world..._I don't hold any hard feelings about what happened. I can't...I get it. You had to go, you _had to... _because Chris is yours."

Claire looked heartbroken. She took Sherry's hand and squeezed, "...I shouldn't have left you. Leon's right about that, Sherry. I shouldn't have left you."

Sherry squeezed back, eyes glistening, "...I'm glad you did...because that's how I found out what family really is. It's that man in the helicopter over there waiting for me. I'd have left you to save him too...no more apologies. Ok?...it was good to see you, Claire."

She'd turned to run, leaving the redhead behind to watch her go. She knew, in that moment, that she'd created even more of a rift between them, but what choice was there? Leon..he just never stopped trying to save her. She couldn't return that loyalty with going against him.

He'd stared into the sunset as they'd flown away and ignored her after they'd landed. Without a word, she'd taken the key card to the room the agency had set up for her and go in to shower and rest. She'd return, it seemed, to the compound the next day for a debriefing.

Not a word.

Not a single statement of respect or admonishment or encouragement. He'd looked at her like he'd looked at Claire on that beach - empty and cold. She'd closed the door quietly and gone to the shower. In the heat, she'd checked the wounds on her back and belly. It was just as she'd expected, scarred, but healed over. It was always that way.

The G-Virus reanimated her. It kept her from dying. Her skin formed a bandage and knitted perfectly. She skimmed the lumps with the pads of her fingers and sighed. If only the heart healed as easily.

She'd carry the scars on it long after it finally stopped knitting.

She lay now in the dark in just her panties. The plain and simple blue cotton flashed as a pair of headlights from a truck passing skimmed over them. Her fingers skimmed the scars just below her ribs.

He'd been so angry...so, so, so angry. She wondered if he'd stay that way. Was he worried about her? Hadn't they told him what she could do? He should know, they'd tortured her enough to make sure she could heal anything.

She paused, considering that, and realized he didn't know. He couldn't know...she'd never told him. She'd never said a word about what they did to her. She didn't want him to fly off in a rage and ruin his career. She wanted him to go far and get what he deserved.

He couldn't do that if he was dead.

The thought made her stop breathing for a moment.

What if they killed him for challenging them over her care?

Could she live with herself?

She could _never _tell him. It was that simple. She'd take the truth to her grave with her. It was the only way to make sure he was safe.

She'd tried to rest, but that was impossible. She kept having flashbacks to Raccoon and the orphanage and Irons. She kept remembering him touching her. He'd touched her bottom and swatted her to punish her. He'd touched her in a way a man should never touch a little girl before he'd tossed her in that room. He'd looked at her legs, he'd looked at her budding breasts in her top. She'd been so afraid he'd rape her before he killed her.

Even as young as she was, she'd heard the rumors about him. She knew what he was. He was afraid of her father, it was the only reason he'd stopped with just swatting her butt and looking. She had no doubt if he hadn't feared William Birkin and his connection to Albert Wesker, she'd have never left Raccoon a virgin. She'd have lost her life and her innocence on the floor of that horrible orphanage beside that doll that watched her with empty eyes.

Inadvertently, Albert Wesker had saved her life that night.

She'd come out of that nightmare with the trauma that had chased her for years. Nightmares about monsters, nightmares about her father turning into a thing that stalked her...a thing that wanted to fill her with his horrid creation. She'd had nightmares about the G-Virus in her blood, making her hungry for flesh, making her hot and desperate to eat Claire's face on the tram.

She'd imagined the blood spilling in her mouth and moaned with pleasure. She'd wept for days after they'd taken Leon from her. Days and days and days she'd cried, huddled in the room with the bed, alone and terrified.

She'd clutched his badge and wept, wishing beyond hope that he'd come back. She wanted to believe. She slept restlessly seeing him dead on that chair, refusing to join them, and blown apart by a shotgun round to the chest - flayed open and heart shredded. She'd cried herself to sleep imagining him dead on the claws of a monster as if Miller had been.

She needed to clear her mind now - the first mission against him triggering all the old horrors. She was restless with thoughts of blood and death and disease. She didn't want to see that, she wanted to see something else, something better, something..._beautiful._

The blinds on the window outside her room flickered with shadows. Sherry closed her eyes and pictured the water again. It wasn't dangerous now. The world wasn't burning. The world was warm with sunset.

The water was frothy and blue - like his eyes and his laughter. His laughter? Yes. In her dreams, he was always laughing. She loved his laughter almost as much as she loved..._him._

His mouth pressed to hers, sealing, sharing the air that would keep her alive. She opened, eyes and lips, and let the warm rush of him inside of her. As they floated, she risked it and sent her tongue beyond the seal of his lips to taste him. Rich and hot, the amorous cavern of his mouth welcomed her, his own tongue stroking wetly against hers in answer.

On the bed, Sherry moaned, her hand skimming down her belly to palm herself over her panties. She whimpered, knees squeezing together as she teased at the swell of her lips over the dampening cotton. She squirmed, body going flush with a feeling like she was healing - but she wasn't healing, she was hurting.

She was _hurting._

She shifted aside her panties to touch the slick gateway to her virginity. Her nipples peaked. Her mouth opened on a tiny cry of delight. She felt dizzy from the blood that rushed to her groin at the pleasure.

She just needed something. What was it? What did she need?

His hands on her body?

She pictured his hand on her body. His hand over hers and helping. His hand slipping his fingers between hers to guide open the folds her body and explore the creamy heat inside. Sherry's hips surged up toward their questing touch. She gasped sweetly.

The knock-on her door had her making a sound of guilt and jerking her hand away from herself. She rolled to her feet and grabbed for the white t-shirt she'd brought with her. She stuffed her arms into the sleeves and called, voice cracking, "...who is it?"

"...you think a monster's gonna knock? Open the door, Sherry."

It was a bad idea. Her pulse was still racing, but she kept her face calm as she opened the door a crack and peered through to be sure it was him. He stood in the rainy misty moonlight in jeans and a ragged looking vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt. The lips and tongue of their iconic band logo seemed to taunt her as she asked, "...what is it? I was sleeping."

His hair was peeled back, wet and stark, leaving his face tired and gorgeous somehow without the curtain of his signature locks. He encouraged, "...let me in for a minute, ok? Just a minute."

It was a bad idea.

She opened the door anyway and stepped back.

Without preamble, he told her, "...I've never in my life seen someone do something as fucking stupid as you did tonight."

He crossed the threshold with the sound of highway traffic to escort him into the warm room. The cold rushed in, trying to disturb the warmth, and Sherry left the door open to make sure she kept her hands to herself. She leaned on the door, head tilted. "...I'm really tired, Leon. I had a long day. I don't really have time for a lecture right now."

She liked the caged anger on him. It felt real somehow in the face of all the fake coldness he'd thrown around earlier. She wasn't entirely sure she liked Agent Kennedy. He was calculating, almost cruel, and very, very good at his job. She'd followed a man she'd adored into a job where he was the best, to find out the hero was nothing like the man she'd spent her life idolizing.

It was a hard truth to swallow. She was still choking on the size of it. She watched him pace a little before he spoke, roughly, "...in the field...I give orders, and you..." He shook his head, he tensed his jaw, and he finished, "...you fucking follow them. You follow my orders or people die. I thought we covered that. I thought you got it."

Quietly, she told him, "I did. I followed them. I protected my partner...that's what I was there to do...so that's what I did. Either I'm your partner out there, Leon, or I'm the little girl you saved in Raccoon. I can't be both. If you can't work with me, fine...that's fine, but don't confuse the two. You told me to back off. You told me to be professional...so I did. I did my job."

She shifted. She did something she'd never really done before, and stood up to him. "...there comes a point where you have to stop telling me what to do. I'm not a little girl anymore. I haven't been in a long time. You have to trust me to know what I'm doing."

He glared at her and hissed, "...that thing gored you like a bull, Sherry. It ran you through...can you even-do you even begin-" Frustrated, he jerked the door out of her hand and slammed it before he shouted, "_I cannot just stand there and watch you die!"_

Oh, her heart. Her flushed skin, her dilated eyes, her needy body and her heart, her heart, her heart - it pounded madly. She took a step toward him. Her voice was quiet but determined, "...I knew what I was doing. I know what I can handle. I will not die on you."

He shook his head looking frazzled, angry, and worried. It healed something on her to know he cared so much that he was all worked up over it. "And what if I die on _you? _Huh? What if I die on you?! What then!?"

Her hands lifted. She gripped the front of his shirt in her fists and tugged. It brought him against her. It made his eyes flare a little and she told him, "I won't let that happen either. If it's a choice between you and me...I will _always _choose you."

Leon looked so utterly shell shocked. He caught her face in his hands and confessed, "...I don't understand that. I can't make any sense of that. Why? What makes you think you matter less than me?"

Quietly, Sherry smiled up at him. It was almost sad when she told him, "...because...I'm not Leon Kennedy."

He looked so floored, she almost felt sorry for him. His voice was so gruff when he told her, "...it's just a name. It doesn't mean anything. Don't you get it? Leon Kennedy...it's a name. It only means something, Sherry, because of _you."_

She gripped his wrists where they held her face and answered, voice thick with pure emotion, "...then I guess you better keep him alive...because I would only die if I lost him."

He pulled her in. She went, arms looping around his waist. One his hand cupped the back of her head, the other looped around her hips and bound her to him. He held on like he'd always done, without letting go. Sherry cupped her hands over his back, clinging.

She wondered if he understood the gravity of what he was to her. She wondered if he could possibly make sense of what it meant to her that he'd given up everything to protect her. From her body to her heart, he'd done his level best to insulate her from anything that would harm her.

He couldn't know, ever, what they'd done to try to tap her powers. He couldn't ever know. She'd lose him if he did. She'd never survive if she lost him. She'd let them torture her every day for the rest of her life if it kept him safe.

Sherry almost stopped breathing when his left hand skimmed down her spine and settled on her hips just above her ass. She waited, breath bated, and he moved just enough against her that her nipples brushed his chest where they poked against her shirt and his. She might have been able to just pass it off as a moment, a heavy moment, where he wasn't doing anything but holding her.

And then the hand above her ass inched a little lower until his fingers dipped just under the waistband of her panties and passed over the top of her bare left cheek.

Maybe she knew nothing, maybe she was a fool, but she couldn't mistake the way his heartbeat quickened. She couldn't do anything but feel the swell of his need against her belly. Her breath fell out on a heavy pant.

When his nose touched her skin beneath the fall of her hair beside her ear, her hands stopped holding. She pulled up his shirt and put them on his back. She wasn't gentle. She stroked, palms painting over the scars he bore that resembled her own.

His breathing turned ragged against her neck. He shook his head like he was denying something. His voice was gruff, "...I should go."

She turned her face toward him. She pushed to tiptoe and her lips skimmed his jaw, they touched his ear, and she answered, "...don't. Stay."

Like a man drowning, his voice was muffled and hoarse against the bend of her neck and shoulder as he almost pleaded her name, "..._Sherry_..."

Her stroking hands moved down his sides. His breath sucked in as she passed them over his belly, passing them up his chest and under the collar of his shirt to cup his chin and turn his face. She kissed the cleft of his chin, she kissed his closed eyes, she kissed his tightly closed lips and made him groan. She urged, almost begging, "..._stay...__Leon..."_

He trembled. He let her kiss over the thudding pulse in his throat, his hands quivered where he held her, frozen like a soldier of chastity resisting sin. She rubbed their chests, whispering, "...Leon..._Leon.._" His name, like a mantra, like a song, like the answer to questions no one ever asked. She kissed along his cheeks, she kissed down the side of his neck, whimpering a little.

His steely expression collapsed, turning tortured and desperate, and he groaned, "...fuck it..."

His hands speared into the back of her panties to fully grip her ass. Sherry made a high pitched gasp of delight. She let him jerk her against him and rub her groin obscenely against his. Her panties were damp, making his shirt damp where they brushed against the bulge of his weeping erection.

He backed her up while she gripped handfuls of his back and arched toward him. Her body turned hot, her mouth open on a soundless cry as he sucked the skin of her delicate throat into his mouth and pulled. Sherry mewled, scrambling her hands up his shoulders as he almost roughly kneaded her ass, grinding her against him as he thrust crudely on her swollen mons; her panties so wet they rubbed against her engorged body like a tease.

Sherry tunneled her hands up across his chest again under that shirt. She brushed the scattering of wonderfully soft hair above his pecs and traveled up his feverish throat until she cupped his chin and turned his face down to her. She gasped, back bumping the wall with each filthy dry fuck against her front. The raunchiness of it all made her feel like some he _craved. _She brought his face down, licked his mouth, and begged, "...kiss me...kiss me, Leon...kiss me..."

He basically rubbed their mouths together. She'd dreamed of him kissing her, but it wasn't that way at all. It felt sloppy and crude. Her belly seized with something that scared her and made her year at the same time. This was it. This was happening. She needed to let go of the fantasy and accept reality.

She whimpered again and his voice gruffly commanded, "...unzip me...now..."

Right.

She should do that. Her hands were shaking as she grabbed for his zipper. She was shaking too much to get it undone. Wanting to please him, she reached under the waistband of his jeans to touch the sticky head of him and her breath trembled out on a small gasp of excitement and fear.

He kept picturing those pink nipples. He was going to put them in his mouth and just -

Sherry's voice broke on a squeaking gush of need, "...I _love _you...I love you so much..."

She wasn't some fucking whore he could open like an envelope and stuff. What was he doing here!? He went still, breath ragged, heart slamming so hard it made him dizzy. He grabbed for her wrist when she tried to push her whole hand down his pants.

His forehead bumped hers and his voice dragged out in a moan, "...stop."

Her chest seized, "...what?"

He shook his head. He bumped their foreheads again and gritted his teeth on a curse, "...fuck...just-damnit...stop."

Sherry was frozen, heart wildly racing, skin clammy, body shaking. He pulled his other hand out of her panties and off her ass. He pressed her own against her belly and away from him. His mouth shifted behind her ear and kissed, making her moan, and he cursed himself again before he let go of her and backed off.

It was abrupt. She slipped against the wall. He caught her arm to keep her from falling and guided her to sit on her bed. She did, bouncing, body shivering.

His tone was breathless, "...I can't...no...I _won't..._damnit...I shouldn't have touched you."

She said nothing, curling her arms around herself. Her tiny little voice broke his heart, "...you don't want me?"

He shook his head. He backed off another step and lifted a hand at her, "...not like that. Not like this...I'm sorry. I-I'm sorry."

She was frozen as he left. The door closed. She sat in the silence with her heart-ripping. She could _feel _it in her chest tearing down the center. He didn't want her -_not like this. _

She was so stupid.

She'd put her hands on him. She'd made herself a whore for him. She'd come onto him like some kind of a tramp. Of course, he found her-of course he didn't' want her. She wasn't sophisticated or beautiful or worldly. She was just a stupid fool who would always be a little girl to him.

And the little girl always got left behind.

Quietly, she whispered softly, "...but I don't want to be alone anymore..."

She listened to the muffled sounds of talking beyond her room. Shifting off the bed, she peeked against the blinds to find Angela at his door across the parking lot. Sherry's heart stopped. She waited, eyes wide, lights flickering...and he stepped aside to let Angela into his room.

Of course, that was the type of woman he wanted. He'd come in here and balked. He'd pushed Sherry away. Why?

Because there were women like Angela in the world waiting for him. He deserved a beautiful woman in his bed. She wanted him to have everything he wanted. She wanted everything he wanted, to be her.

The shadows lengthened, full of dreams where she'd be alone, lost, and waiting for him to find her. Her hand-picked up his badge from the bag she'd packed at the compound. She pictured Angela beneath him in the dark while he touched her, kissed her, and _stayed._

The tears came fast as she collapsed on the bed and pressed his shield to her face. She huddled in the dark, holding herself, it was the first time she'd cried since the day they'd taken him away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part One:**

**-Under the Umbrella-**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Family Ties**

* * *

Depression was an ugly bitch. It left her feeling exhausted and expired when she woke. The sunlight poking in the window made her groan and lift the middle finger in a salute to misery.

Sherry rolled her legs off the bed and rose, poking her eye against the curtains to notice that Angela's car was gone. Good. That was good. Otherwise, she thought she just might go out there and show that bitch how a woman living with the G-Virus could lift a Volkswagen and throw it across the street.

Sherry paused, amused with herself. She hated the jealousy, of course, but she couldn't stop it. Every time she heard a rumor about him with some woman, she flinched. Last night..._last night..._she paused by the bathroom and leaned on the wall with a hand to her heart.

She could still smell him on her skin. Her belly quivered. She'd wept and curled down and let the defeat cripple her the night before, but she'd forgotten one very important thing - he'd _touched _her. He'd put his hands on her and acted like she was something he wanted but couldn't have. That would stay with her forever.

She let the anger eat around the edges of her love for him. He was so stubborn sometimes and with a streak of some kind of honor that prevented him from taking her. Part of him would always see that little girl he'd saved in Raccoon City.

The only way she'd ever be able to break that image was with something drastic. She just wasn't sure how to show him she wasn't a child anymore. The idea of stripping off her clothes like a tramp and tossing herself at him left her mouth dry and her skin cold. She'd never survive a full-on rejection if she attempted it.

She was hoping they'd survive the night before. How'd she live with herself if he completely shut her down?

He'd run the night before, but he hadn't run because of what he didn't want. She'd felt his want for her. She could still feel it against her belly.

She just had to wait him out. She just had to be patient. She just had to be there for him.

Sherry sighed as she stepped under the heavy shower spray. She pictured him in the water with her, kneeling, and putting his mouth on her eager body. Trembling, Sherry heaved a frustrated breath.

She was pretty sure waiting was going to kill her faster than the G-Virus ever could.

* * *

She expected him to take her to the compound the next morning. Emerging from her room, sunglasses in place over her swollen eyes, Sherry followed him into the dark sedan he'd been issued. She sat beside him, staring off into the early morning sun without a single word.

He smelled good, which irritated her, and the tiny hairs on his arm brushed hers when he shifted gears. Annoyed, she curled away toward the passenger window, silent as a tomb. If the air had been any more pregnant, it have given birth to awkward.

When he bypassed the airport, she shifted in her seat to glance at his face. His jaw was hard and his gaze obscured by pretty wraparound Oakley's in white with polarized green lenses. He wore black - from the shirt to the boots to the leather jacket. Irritated, Sherry muttered, "...you own anything but black and leather, Mr. Wayne?"

His mouth twitched.

Sherry turned back to look out the window and he finally spoke, "...I shouldn't have taken advantage of you last night."

She tensed. Her eyes closed on a heavy sigh and Sherry murmured, "...I don't want to talk about it."

His jaw flexed and he urged, "You were vulnerable. I was angry and coming down from the high of the fight...I was looking for something to take the edge off. I'd had a few drinks...I should have never touched you like that. I feel like a fucking asshole."

She sat for a moment with her eyes closed. She was afraid if she spoke now, she'd say something she'd regret. She wanted to heal this rift, she did, but she wasn't sure how she did that without lying to him. She'd tried so hard to never lie.

So she assuaged, "...it's ok...it was me. I was so scared of losing you...I just...I overreacted. It's my fault."

He glanced at her and then back at the road, "Where am I going?"

Sherry shrugged, "...wherever they tell you to. I know what I am to you...I shouldn't have tried to be something else."

His jaw flexed again as he inquired tonelessly, "...what are you to me?"

"...a burden." She turned back to the window. "...a child."

He said nothing.

The silence dragged out for so long that she felt like she might start crying again. Her eyes stung for a moment. She curled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them in the seat.

He reached over and covered her hands where they held her knees. She flinched and he gruffed, voice thick with feeling, "...you're my family, Sherry...there's only two things in this world that matter to me...I'm gonna take you to meet the other one...you're my _family..._I'm sorry I hurt you."

She said nothing. She just sat there with her eyes closed as tears leaked from her tightly closed lids. She couldn't bear the pain in his voice. It hurt her more than her own. So, she told him, aching, "...it's not your fault. I'm not angry at you. I misread the situation. It was me...it was all me...I'm sorry too."

His fingers laced in between hers where she clutched her knees. She let him hold her hand like that, hurting for them both. He'd wanted a fuck after a few drinks the night before. He'd touched her, probably picturing the woman he'd professed to love before. He was sorry.

She knew he'd never deliberately hurt her...but her heart...it just kept ripping.

His hand tightened. Her lids squeezed. She fell asleep listening to the engine and the sound of his breathing.

When she awoke, she was lying on a pretty white comforter. The warm sun made her blink twice and clear her gritty eyes. The room was done in shades of blue and gray, a soft afghan tossed on the back of a wicker rocking chair in one corner beside a scuffed old desk.

She sat up, rolling her neck, and caught sight of something on the wall that made her rise and move toward it. It was a photograph of him, in a pretty filigree frame, in an adorable yellow track shirt and shorts. He held a baton aloft and was laughing. The hair was tied back in a stubby ponytail at the base of his neck. He was tall, young, and thin in a way she'd never seen him.

Her finger traced the number eight on his yellow track top. She smiled, her mouth lilting, and the voice behind her made her smile more, "...my greatest victory there...my first hundred-meter sprint."

He stepped up behind her and she closed her eyes, smelling him - gun oil and lavender or something. It was his own signature scent. His biceps brushed her arm as he reached forward to point at the photo in the frame beside it. "That's junior year - I managed to win the science fair with my homemade version of a solar panel."

Sherry glanced at the skinny little version of him and sighed happily, "...why are you grinning with your hand behind your back?"

The humor in his voice was beautiful somehow, "...my real victory came in using my time in chemistry class to create synthetic cum. I covered the football teams' lockers in it to get back at them for stuffing me in mine."

Sherry relaxed back in inches, testing him, until she settled against the curve of his chest and could lean her ear against his arm where it gestured at the wall. She teased, "...you were the type to get thrust into a locker, huh?"

His cheek leaned on the top of her head, sealing together pieces of her that had started to scatter at the distance between them, "...mmm...yeah. I was in the gifted program, Sherry. I didn't really make friends with the cool kids being a mathlete."

Her laugh was soft. It eased the tension in him to hear it. She closed her eyes gently and mused, "...I bet you were adorable. Glasses?"

"...you tell me."

She opened her eyes and turned them to the picture he pointed at. A little boy, barely eight or so, with big tortoise size glasses over beautiful blue eyes. Her torso shifted, her arm curling around his waist as she clung to his side and laughed with delight. "Look at you! You're so adorable!"

He winced but the smile on his face was happy and soft, "Right. I was a real heartthrob. Girls dropped panties everywhere I went in those days."

Sherry turned her eyes to him and returned, quietly, "...how about now?"

His hand lowered. It settled on her lower back. His face turned toward her and his eyes skimmed her softened expression. His tone was a little grumbling as he queried, "...now I think I spend way too much time working to worry about girls."

Sherry's right hand curled into the front of his shirt and she urged, "...what about Angela?"

Surprised, his brows lifted, as Leon asked, "...what about Angela?"

Sherry twisted her lips, knowing it was dangerous to touch on his privacy, but she just needed to know the answer. So, she just asked, and took the risk, "She drop her panties for you last night?"

In all his life, Leon Kennedy had dealt with girls. When he was young, it was his sister and her friends teasing him and locking them out of their clubhouse. His mother became his world, operating like a guiding force to drive him on to be the man who protected, served, and treated women like ladies, even if they acted like whores. He was a man who had trouble following them, sure, but that's because he was raised to protect and cherish them not to really fight beside them.

Having Sherry as a partner had nearly given him a stroke. He just wasn't a man who worked with a partner, and especially not one he was terrified of failing. He'd spent way too much time worrying about her to do the job to the best of his ability.

And now he was worried about her feelings.

He kept picturing her face while he'd rubbed her against him. The flashes of light from passing cars had illuminated those hooded eyes and open mouth. She'd been enamored of him, open and flushed, eager and needy. He knew if he just reached down and put his fingers in her, she'd have cum right there against his hand with a sweet cry of desperation. He'd _wanted _her.

So, of course, he'd run. Touching her might have destroyed the trust she had in him. He couldn't offer her any kind of life. He couldn't be her husband and offer her children and a house in the suburbs. He couldn't do anything but play guard dog for the government until they decided it was time to let him go. He couldn't be the man who kept her, because she deserved all those things.

She deserved a real-life, and all he could offer her was a mockery of one.

Telling her he'd slept with Angela might push her crush away. It might actually help him to say it. It might make Sherry think he was a bastard. Maybe he'd be doing her a favor by pushing her away here.

So, he opened his mouth and said, "...I didn't touch her."

Really?

He blinked twice. His mouth went right on talking, "She needed someone to talk to about her brother. I let her cry and then put her in touch with a grief counselor."

Apparently, he couldn't even lie when it was for all the right reasons.

Sherry's mouth lifted into a smile. Her upper teeth clamped on the rolled in pink of her bottom lip. She squeezed a handful of his shirt and giggled a little. Jesus. She was so fucking adorable. How could he see her half like something he wanted to fuck bowlegged and half like something he wanted to hide away from the world and shelter? It was a see-saw of emotions he wasn't willing to deal with.

Quietly, she told him, "...good."

She started to lean up and he felt that panic pulling at his guts again. It might have been funny because in that moment, it was his mother that saved him from something stupid. "The bread is done, Leon!"

Sherry blinked. Leon jumped like his mother had caught him fucking a girl in his room or something. He set Sherry away from him and proclaimed, "...right. The bread. Come have some bread and meet my mother, ok?"

He turned on his heel and left.

Sherry stood in the room shimmering. The other thing in his life that mattered - his mother. She was in his mother's house. She was in _his room. _She moved toward the pictures, feeling her heart heal another piece at each portrait of a boy who'd become a hero. He'd taken her to his mother's house to meet the other part of his world.

He'd taken her..._home._

* * *

They spent three days with his mother. The moment Sherry met her, she understood his urgency. He'd mentioned his mother was sick, she'd known she was ailing, but he hadn't mentioned his mother was _dying._

Vera Kennedy had the sallow complexion of someone in liver failure. She had bags beneath her son's blue eyes and the beautiful suggestion of his cleft on a chin that was sharp with weight loss. She was tall, towering over Sherry as she made dinner for them and talked with the happiness of a mother hen when her chicks come home to roost. She had a bandanna around her head, indicating hair loss and suggesting chemotherapy treatments for cancer that was ravaging her body and killing her slowly.

It was easy to see the bone structure of her son in the mother. She was once, without a doubt, a beautiful woman. She had awards on her walls - ones form the sister Leon had lost in the storm, ones from him from grade school to the police academy. She had a photo of them together on his graduation day - the same beautiful boy who'd carried Sherry to safety after the virus had finally burnt away the last of her strength.

The boy was in the man beside her as he paced his mother in the kitchen to help her at every turn. Vera swatted at his hands to send him back to his seat and commanded, "Sit down now. I'm sick, not crippled."

He did, looking worried when her back was turned so she could butter bread. Sherry reached under the table to touch his knee and his hand joined hers there, looping fingers and squeezing tightly. She understood now the panic on his face. His mother was dying. The only thing in the world he had that wasn't tainted by the T-Virus was fading. What would he become when there was nothing left to tie him to the Leon Kennedy he'd been before the fall of a dying city?

She gushed and talked, constantly stroking his hair back to look at him and declare him "peaked." She remarked on Sherry's beauty, curious if she got her coloring from goddesses or angels. Sherry, charmed, returned that she'd heard it had come the rest of the wee folk in the fairy mound. She made Vera laughed and coo around like a mother dove.

Leon watched them, coffee mug in hand, wishing for a moment that he had the words to give them the peace they'd managed to inject into his emptiness by simply enjoying each other. He wanted to say it was like having his sister back, but he wasn't a fool. He'd never been a liar anyway. Sherry wasn't his sister.

The ten minutes he'd spent in the shower that morning jerking off thinking about her made him acutely aware that she wasn't.

She was, however, just what his mother needed to perk up and look happy again. It had been the right answer to bring her there to meet the other half of his world.

When Vera napped in her favorite chair after dinner, Leon stepped onto the porch of her little house. An adorable two-bedroom, it sat on a chunk of pretty land. Sherry could see the tree in the distance where he'd climbed and lost his sister. She saw the twinkling lights of the town they'd been trying to find his father in. She could _see _the boy he'd been here in the man before her.

She also understood now why Leon Kennedy didn't touch cigarettes - lung cancer had been killing his mother for years.

Sherry stepped up beside him on the porch. She gripped the railing like he did. She said nothing while he growled, "...I can't fix her."

Sherry was silent.

He went on, with an angry laugh, "I can kill thousands of men. I can put a fucking bullet through the eagle eye of a quarter on a rainy and windy day at almost a thousand yards...I'm a fucking legend, right?"

He closed his eyes, bearing down on the banister until it popped, and his pain broke her heart. "...I can't fix her. I can't save her. She's dying."

Sherry finally reached over and touched his hand. "...maybe they can take my blood and help her."

His head turned, the hair tumbled into his eyes, and he ground out, "...no. I will _never _use you like that. Do you hear me?"

Sherry shook her head. She gripped his wrist, hard enough he winced, and told him, "...you're not using me. I have something in me that heals. It heals. It regenerates. What if it can save her? You're not using, I'm _offering. _Let me do this for you. Let me do this. You asked me once to let you save me. Let me save your mother. Let me try."

His eyes whipped around her face. He looked so scared. He looked so tired. He finally said, "...what if it infects her? What if it just..." Leon trailed off, "Let me even find out if that's an option, Sherry. I don't think-"

She nodded. She turned away to look out over the trees, "You don't want to save her only to see her turn into a freak. I hear you. I understand."

Leon cursed softly. He looked away over the horizon. Sherry laughed with a glimmer of pain, "Who can blame you? What kind of life is that anyway? Alive but infected. Who wants to live that way? Better dead than a monster."

Into the growing silence, she told him, "...I know what I am. They made sure I knew. Every day, they take blood and they run tests and they see..." She stopped, unwilling to tell him about the torture, so instead, "I was ignored when I was a girl - invisible. When I was about six, I found out why. I had a brother. He was sick from the moment he was born - leukemia. Acute myeloid leukemia. They had me trying to save his life. I was a bone marrow baby."

She laughed again, voice angry, "I failed to save him and he died when I was two apparently. They gambled and lost. My father set about developing the G-Virus on the idea that it would never again happen to another child. My mother completely fell apart. She was distant to me, and I could never understand why. Later, I knew it was because she blamed me for him dying. Somehow, I'd failed to save her son."

Sherry closed her eyes, feeling the cold wind on her face, and finally finished, "...they never really loved me. They couldn't. I was a sad replacement for the child they'd grieved enough to create something that was meant to make miracles, and instead made monsters. I couldn't save him...but maybe...maybe I can save her. Maybe I can save her, so you don't have to know how it feels to lose your parents. Maybe they never loved me...but I never stopped loving _them_."

The wind whispered in the trees. The branches shivered. Winter smelled cold and waiting beyond the forest and the wonderfully changing leaves. The rain made drops of pretty water drip from the gutters on the roof above them.

Her eyes were still swollen from crying herself to sleep the night before. He could see the grief all over her. He'd left her alone. He'd run away and left her alone. She'd seen a G-monster for the first time since her father had nearly killed her and infected her with his own madness. She'd seen Miller and remembered him. She'd grieved again, and tossed with nightmares, and Leon...he'd left her alone.

And never thought about the horrors that had plagued her in that hotel room after he'd panicked with his goddamn hands in her pants.

He'd run away and left her.

Like her parents. Like Claire. Like he'd always promised he'd never do.

Voice thick with anger at himself, Leon filled the silence between them with the most heartfelt apology he'd ever given someone. "I walked out last night when I should have thought about Birkin. I should have thought about how'd you feel in the aftermath of that. I should have held you instead of hurting you...I failed you. I said I wouldn't, and I did. I left you to grieve and cry alone. I leave her here to rot away from something I can't stop. I don't know how to save her. I don't how to protect you. I can't fight any of this for you and win...I failed you _both."_

Sherry turned toward him. She gave him a face that burned with righteous indignation as she told him, "I said it once - I won't say it again. You have _never _failed me. You haven't failed her either. She's still here. She loves you. You can't fix her. It's not your fault, Leon. Her dying? _It's not your fault_."

His jaw flexed. His eyes were glassy. He closed them hard while she watched his profile. After a handful of seconds, she urged, "Let me try. Let me try to help her. Let me _try."_

Finally, he just nodded. He nodded and turned. His hand cupped the back of Sherry's neck. He tugged her into him and she went, arms looping around him, fists gripping his coat at the back, face buried in his chest. He dropped his nose and mouth to the crown of her head. His other arm lifted to wrap at her shoulders.

They clung, Sherry squeezing so hard she was afraid she'd hurt him, but he just held on harder.

Tomorrow, he'd find out if her blood could save the only other woman in the world that mattered.

Tonight, he held the one who'd trade everything she had to help him.

* * *

Sherry added another blanket to the one his mother slept beneath. She'd fallen asleep showing baby pictures of her children with a mother's glowing pride. She'd talked about a boy who'd played chess and never lost a match. She spoke a girl who built a tree house that was nearly impenetrable - the only one who could break in was Leon. He'd made, it seemed, a makeshift climbing tower from a tree and a set of tongs with some frayed rope and old blankets.

Vera, laughing, remarked, "...damnedest thing I ever saw. He was always bright, my son. Even when I figured he was too busy looking at girls to look at books...he was always five steps ahead of his friends."

Leon had laughed, sipping the amber whiskey in the highball glass in the low light from the kitchen. "...you have rose colored glasses, Mama."

"Do I?" Vera chuckled, "I suspect you're just as clever now, and still avoiding girls."

Leon, glancing at Sherry in the kitchen washing dishes, had muttered, "...not like I used to."

His mother had beamed, "...good boy...I stand by the clever remark."

When he turned his gaze to her, she told him, "There's more to life than right and wrong, Leon. Stop looking so hard at what you can do, and take a glimpse into what you are. That girl...she looks at you like I looked at your father."

With a swell of remorse, Vera touched his hand where it rested on her knee and reminded him, "I loved him once, my beautiful boy, even when he was too busy looking at the life he'd be losing by staying with me. Love...it's all that matters, Leon. It's what's left when the battle is over and the blood is ankle deep. Love. It won't stop a bullet, but it'll bring you back to life when you're almost dead."

He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. Undone, Vera cupped his face and told him, "Stop fighting for what you've lost...start fighting for what you've got right in front of you."

Sherry brushed a hand over Vera's soft bald head. The chemo had taken the beautiful hair she'd once had that was just like her son's. She was tired, resting more than she was awake now, and wilting as a flower that's been cut from its root for too long. She didn't have much time.

She wondered if they'd even have an answer before he lost her.

Sherry rose and left the bedroom, leaving it cracked in case she called for anything. She went to the bathroom to wash her face for bed and emerged into the dark hallway.

There was a reason he was The Ghost. He was just...right there. She nearly yipped and his hand settled over her mouth instead. Her smile bloomed behind his palm and she almost teased him.

But there was nothing funny on his face.

His thumbs settled at the base of her jaw as his fingers cupped around the back of her neck. He tilted her face up toward and her heart lurched, thudding impossibly fast behind her sternum. He turned her face into the light from the kitchen and then back against toward the shadow from the bathroom.

After a moment, she whispered, "...what are you looking for?"

His voice was gruff when he answered, "The little girl that dressed my wound in a dirty school uniform."

Her mouth twitched up into a smile as she confided, "...she's still in there. Don't you see her?"

Again, no humor on him, just something dark and haunted. He confessed, thumbs tracing her lips, "...not anymore. Are you scared of me, Sherry?"

Her lips parted. Her body just melted a little, leaning back on the wall and up toward him. She felt the blood rush to her face as she murmured, "...not _of_ you, not exactly."

Leon's teeth flashed white in the dark, "You should be..." He leaned down and his lips ticked at her ear as he added, "...sleep tight, sweetheart. Lock your door."

Her eyes sparkled. Her heart raced. Leon leaned back, she caught his wrists and leaned up. Her lips brushed his as she answered, "...it's always open for you...but I'm pretty sure you know that. You can come inside anytime, Leon. I'm always here for you."

She wasn't sure what that flash was on his face. It was something she couldn't understand. She just wasn't wise enough at the ways of men to get it. He pinned her against the wall and made her breath catch and shiver as he warned her, "...don't talk like that. Not to me - not to any man ever. Do you understand?"

Her face flushed with color, "...why? It's true. It's always been true. I'm here for you. Why should I pretend I'm not?"

He shook his head. He looked angry. He urged, "You're so young...I keep forgetting that when you look at me and you.." He trailed off and added, "Talking to a man like that is a game, Sherry. One that means more than you can begin to understand. Games end when someone loses..it's dangerous to play games, Sherry. Be careful who you play them with. Not every man will bother to stop at playing."

She licked her dry lips and urged, "...what men? Leon...there's only you."

His hands on her face tightened a little. He watched her like a hawk watches the mouse. She felt her body surged with blood that made her limbs weak. Her hands curled around his wrists and she confessed, "...it's just you...tell me you don't know that."

His face said he knew it. His face said he didn't _want _to know it. "...dammit, Sherry...don't give yourself away so easily. You deserve better than that."

"...better than you?"

He trailed his eyes down her body - head to toes and tits and tummy. She felt his eyes touch each part of her and shivered when he grumbled, "...better than anyone. Wait...for the right man and the right moment and the right..."

He trailed off again. Sherry felt a shimmer of something like sadness. She whispered, sweetly, "...there's no one better than you."

Without looking at her face, looking at the slow heave of her bosom, he confessed, "...you deserve more than me...you need to forget me."

"Why do you talk about yourself like that?" Her voice was tight with irritation, "Stop trying to make me forget you...I don't want to. I'm not your sister...I'm not a little girl...and I'm not going anywhere. I'm here. I'm right where I want to be."

Damn her, he thought, why did that make him feel so good?

Leon let go of her and stepped back. Sherry trembled against the wall. They stared at each other until she invited, softly, "...do you want me to lock my door?"

She watched his throat swallow. She watched the Adam's apple bob twice. She waited for him to speak.

When he did, her belly tightened and he commanded, "...lock it. Goodnight, Sherry...thank you for coming with me."

He turned and she called, "...thank you for bringing me home, Leon."

He paused, he glanced back at her, "Is it your home now too, Sherry?"

She tilted her head, "Don't you know? Wherever you are, that's home to me. You're my family."

His mouth tilted up. Hers echoed it. Gruffly, he reiterated, "...lock that door."

He went to sleep on the couch. She wanted to invite him to sleep beside her, but she knew he'd refuse. She went into the bedroom, but she didn't lock the door.

As long as he was out there, she'd always leave the door unlocked.

She had a feeling he knew that too.


	7. Chapter 7

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part One:**

**-Under the Umbrella-**

* * *

**Chapter 7: The Butterfly Effect**

* * *

**BSAA Headquarters - New York, New York**

* * *

"What are you saying here?"

Chris Redfield tossed the file folder down on his desk. He grabbed the front of the man's shirt in front of him and half dragged him over the mahogany surface. Jill Valentine surged forward to grab for his arm before he started swinging.

The man in his grip squeaked, "I'm sorry! I am! It's-it's just what the reports said! It's just what I heard!"

Jill, trying to hang off Chris' massive biceps before he punched the man in the face, urged, "You saying Spencer is alive!?"

The man squeaked again, "I'm saying the intel suggests Spencer is alive and well and building a potential army."

Chris slung the man to the floor. He scrambled up, turned, and took off toward the door. Jill swung the big man around and cautioned, "Easy here. Easy. We go rushing into that on half-ass intel, we could be walking into a trap."

Chris grabbed her forearm and squeezed, "This is it, Jill. It's the end. Can't you feel it?"

She didn't. She did, however, feel a sense of dread that left her mouth dry. "Give me a few days to verify the intel, ok? Just a couple of days."

"...fine. But this is it...I can _feel it. _We're gonna get that old man and shut Wesker down for good."

Jill could feel it too, but not the urge to finish it - the urge to stay away.

Jill loved the enthusiasm on him, she did, but...but..._but..._she felt like there was something telling her to avoid that castle on the map staring at them from the desk. Something bad was waiting there. Something was wrong here, something was worming around in her instincts like the parasites in the Kennedy report. She needed to stay away from that castle.

She could _feel _it.

She knew what it would mean if he were to ever find out, but it was time to go behind one Redfield's back to the other and try to save his life.

* * *

**St. Genevieve, Missouri**

* * *

Vera and Sherry took a walk through the woods while Leon handled work calls at the house. The thin frame of his mother was still sturdy somehow. She picked mushrooms and moved with the same inherent grace her son possessed. It was, apparently, genetic.

They paused to look at a pretty clearing with the sun dribbling down in a storybook show of light and shadow. Undone, Sherry remarked, "...this place is like..."

Vera chuckled, "...a Disney movie?"

Sherry shook her head, eyes sparkling, "...a sanctuary. It's a sanctuary here. I understand now why he wants to protect it so badly. He wants to make sure his safe place, stays immune."

Vera tilted her head, studying the girl beside her. On one hand, she was a beautiful creature - long swirls of blonde hair and princess features on a fragile frame. On the other - Vera sensed something impossibly strong in her, a steely composure that supported her son's tendency to react emotionally in the face of a crisis. This girl, somehow, she balanced that out. The moment he'd brought her inside, Vera had seen what she was to him - a safe haven. He'd brought home one to meet the other.

He'd never been a boy who had too many things in his life that needed his care. He was a man who loved so fully, so passionately, so completely - that to divide that love over too many sources would diminish it. His world was a ying-yang of love and battle. Vera didn't have to know exactly what he did to know he did something that saved lives. All his life he'd been a boy who yearned, needed, and pushed to make a difference. He'd saved cats from trees and helped old ladies across the road. He'd nursed birds with broken wings and found homes for pets that had no one to love them.

He was, in his soul, a man meant to do good. She'd spent a lifetime nurturing that beautiful altruism and could see it all over him each time he visited. He could see it now, reflected in a girl that was madly, desperately, utterly and sputteringly in love with her son.

Vera remarked, "When his sister died..." She perched on a log, gathering her strength. She knew in her bones she didn't have long left on this Earth. She needed him cared for her when she was gone. She was happy to hand that care to this girl. She just wanted...for her to know who he was under the armor he wore, "Leon spent days up in that tree searching for his father."

Sherry's whole body softened. She sat beside Vera on the log and took her hand, a gesture that she couldn't possibly understand that spoke volumes about the softness inside of the girl. She was a woman who simply nurtured, bursting with maternal and emotional instincts. Empathetic in her bones, Sherry Birkin was the type who held your hand while you spoke of things long past, "...I didn't know how to tell him the truth about his father."

Sherry rubbed her arm as Vera confessed, "He wasn't a good man. Even when I was young and stupid, starry-eyed at his beauty, I knew he was a bad man. I suspected early on that he had a wife and a family outside of ours. He was often gone for long periods of time. He was always secretive about his life. I knew he was a scientist. I knew, when he left me, he was going to take a job with one of the biggest companies in the world that made medical advances..."

She trailed off. Sherry, eyes wide, breathed, "...Raccoon City."

Vera smiled sadly, "...yes. He went to Raccoon City to work, it seemed, for the company my son would eventually see destroyed. I think it was pride that pushed Leon to take a job in that city-owned by Umbrella. I think it was...partly revenge that pushed him so hard to bring it down. His father was no one really...he never had been...just a man working for a company that made monsters...but Leon..."

She sighed sadly as Sherry finished for her, "He took it personally. He saw it as the ultimate betrayal."

Vera nodded. She gripped Sherry's hand and finished, "...I won't make it the year."

Sherry's face crumbled with sadness. She held on, soothing, "We're trying to stop that from happening."

Vera shook her head, "...it's too late. It's been too late for some time. This last round of chemo...it was a hail mary pass. It failed. It's over...but my son..."

Sherry whispered, "...he can't ever give up."

"No. He doesn't know how...I think..."She gripped the girl's face now, "I think he'll need someone to make him. I think you'll have to get him to face it, embrace it, and let me go. This was his sanctuary once, Sherry...I need you to be that for him now."

Sherry was already nodding, "Of course. Anything. I'll do anything I can. I-" She shook her head.

Vera finished for her, "You love him...I know it. I see it. It's all over you. I'm glad. I'm thrilled. Leon...he'll push until he's empty without something to hold him down. Don't let him push until he's empty. Don't let him push until he's too far gone. He has to try, it's all he knows how to do, but don't let him push until he's dead inside. Stop him. Protect him. The way I can't anymore."

Sherry's eyes teared. She nodded. They both leaned in to embrace and hold on. It was a passing of a torch in one hand, from the woman who'd loved him all his life, to the woman who'd love him the rest of it. They both held on until the voice of that same man echoed through the woods to call them home.

And they held hands the whole way back to him.

As they emerged onto the porch, he tugged Sherry to the side and told her quietly, "...I've located Ozwell Spencer. Claire got a message out to me that her brother and the BSAA are set to storm the potential hiding place in less than two days...I need to get to him first, Sherry. I need to get to him before Chris Redfield hands him to the wrong people and silences him forever."

Sherry tilted her head at him, "What do you think he knows?"

Leon, jaw flexed, told her, "I think he knows where to find Albert Wesker. I need to find Wesker and stop him from marketing whatever he has left of the viruses he acquired in Raccoon City. I know he's out there, I know he's peddling, I know he's planing something ugly. I need to stop that. I think Chris will show up, punching down doors, and destroy delicate evidence that might make the difference. He's a soldier, not a detective. I need to get there first."

She grabbed his forearm and nodded, "...let me come with you."

Their eyes flicked over the other's face. He glanced at his mother in her chair in the living room - frail and tired. He wanted to stay - but he _needed _to go. He had to. Spencer might have everything they needed to finish it once and for all.

So, he urged, "...go get your stuff. Let's say goodbye. When it's done...I'd really like it if you'd stay here for a little while with her while I finish the paperwork. I think-I've got Rebecca Chambers working on the blood idea for a cure..but I'm afraid-"

Sherry stepped into him. Her arms wrapped around him. He tensed, relaxed, and clutched her close as she whispered, "...you're afraid she's dying too fast."

His face collapsed, rebuilt, and he gruffed, "...yeah..._yeah."_

Sherry held him, tone trembling, "...me too. So, let's hurry."

He nodded. He held on for a moment longer, and then they went inside to say goodbye, and hopefully forward to finish what he'd started in that city where the dead had walked, and his father had likely died - helping a horrible corporation create a nightmare. Finding Spencer, finishing Wesker, stopping the sale of bioweapons, in his own way, was the way he redeemed his family name.

What he didn't understand was that she had some of her own family redemption to chase.

* * *

**The Spencer Estate - The Carpathian Mountains**

* * *

_Whatever they'd expected behind that door, it wasn't what they found._

_In a fractured world, two heroes had crossed the threshold to find an evil mastermind curled in the arms of the enemy on the bloody ground beneath them._

_But it would seem, by some twist of fate, that another pair of heroes would change the world and find themselves in a greater nightmare than either could even begin to imagine..._

* * *

In the wheelchair, a wizened man faced them while the lightning streaked ominously over the sky from the enormous window behind him. It was storybook- the moment when the evil mastermind confesses his dastardly plot to the ears of those who deign to listen. The villain in this tale was Ozwell Spencer, though he clearly thought he was the unsung hero. The old man birthed forth from his toothless mouth, a grizzled and gnarly tale of one man's quest for immortality, and the hapless fallen who died beneath the rolling wheels of fate.

"...I was to be a god..." He stared at them. Sherry stood with her gun on him and something like harnessed pity on her. Leon ranged beside her, weapon at his side, and each flash of lightning on his face adding to the anger that brewed like the storm beyond the window. "A god doesn't fear those around him - he ascends to greatness. Albert...he wasn't the first, he won't be the last, though he might have been the greatest...I infused each other them with pieces of me, parts that would make them stronger, faster, better...a superior race of humans that would one day send the masses of miscreant wastes back to their hovels. Through that immortality, I would become...a god among men."

Old and frail, he trembled beneath his blanket. He didn't look immortal, he looked terminal. He was inches from deaths door and fighting like hell to hold onto the dream of his own megalomania. "I created the perfect specimen. I made him to emulate my greatness and go on to show the world what I am."

Leon's voice broke through the silence that followed, "You old bastard...did you think you could control him? You created a monster and you let him loose to kill indiscriminately. And yet even now...there's no remorse on you...there's no pity for those you've sacrificed in the name of your own delusions. You're not a god; you're a joke. A punchline with a bad ending that people forget about before the party ends. You think anyone will remember you? They'll remember _him."_

Spencer's voice was so very frail, hollow but desperate, "_I AM A GOD!"_

Later, Leon would think it was stupidity that made them stare at that old bastard and miss the sound of their own demise. A voice filled with power nearly killed the old man on the spot, "...the right to be a god...that right is now - _mine."_

He was so fast.

It wasn't human. It wasn't anything like Leon had ever seen. One minute he was a shadow in the door way with blonde hair, and the next he was wrist deep in the chest of an old man with him lifted upward and gasping like a landed fish. Blood soaked the ground in a red hot wash as Spencer gave a garbled grunt and summarily tossed to the floor like garbage.

The first three bullets hit Albert Wesker in the chest from less than three feet away, the fourth got him in the head...for all the good it did. He was too close, too far inside the attack range as Leon dropped the gun to his left and spun low, the fist that might have crushed his face flew over his head, and he buffalo kicked from the floor. Wesker laughed, amused, and caught his ankle to sling him away almost playfully.

Sherry brandished her knife like a champ and got a piece of his arm in a good slice before he straight palmed her in the sternum and sent her skidding away like she'd been kicked by a horse. It was luck or pure curiosity that allowed Leon to drive his own knife into the back of the man in black four times with pops of blood before Wesker elbowed him, Leon got his head back to avoid the full fit, but it glanced off his jaw. That alone felt like being smacked in the face with a brick.

Leon recoiled, got his wrists up to block the kick Wesker threw at him, and his arms went numb with it. He had a moment to think - _shit - _and Wesker asked almost conversationally, "That all? Show me what all that training gets you...show me your _natural _ability. The best in a decade, was _it?...prove it."_

He blocked each jab, each thrust, each spinning side kick and cleverly executed fake. Wesker had been a natural pugilist before he'd given up his soul for power. Now? Now he was a master at combat with a monsters keen sense of attack. He pivoted, parried, and pushed Leon back with a series of moves that would have made for an impressive battle if they'd both been men - but they both it was simply a game for Wesker.

When a single punch found its way against that chiseled jaw, Wesker's head jerked back, his glasses went flying, and he stopped looking amused. He grabbed the next hit, took a shot from Sherry's gun in the side with a jerk, and caught the uppercut arm that Leon tried to use to break free. With a grunt, Wesker thrust him against the wall hard enough to leave Leon dazed. "Some skill in a fragile package. A shame, I might have made something from you if you'd fallen into my hands sooner in Raccoon. All the training in the world won't make you anything but a bag of bones and blood."

Sherry shot Wesker twice in the back while he pinned Leon to the wall on his face and mused, "Should I break these arms? It would leave you almost as broken as you are useless."

Teeth clenched, the former rookie taunted, "Go ahead...I'll still kick your ass."

Wesker chortled and caught Sherry's throat as she rushed him. He lifted her off the ground, shrugged, and threw her away. She went up and came down in a heap across the room. The move let Leon break free enough to throw a reverse headbutt. It struck, loudly, and Wesker spit the blood from his wounded mouth right back in Leon's face. "...you even fight like a heathen...pathetic."

He spun Leon around, Sherry rushed them again, and Wesker snarled, "...fools. This ends now."

Apparently, he'd been playing with them up until then. He stopped playing.

He backhanded Leon like a bitch and sent him up and out like a swatted fly. It was power like nothing they'd ever seen. He was there and gone, poof, pop, and power. Sherry got between them, battling in a way such a frail girl shouldn't be able to. She fought like a tigress, using her own strength and her freshly learned skills to try to bring down the most powerful man in bioterror.

The bookcase got the full crash of Leon's body as Sherry shouted. He slid down and couldn't feel his legs. Not a good sign, a pretty bad one, considering Wesker was coming for him again.

Sherry tackled him instead.

She lifted the big man up and just threw him. No thinking, no concern, no straining - she threw two hundred plus pounds of muscle and didn't even blink. As he hit the wall and came down, Sherry jerked Leon to his feet. When he couldn't stand, she panicked and shoved him behind the desk there as if she'd...what? Hide him?

It was sweet, if a little misguided.

Wesker didn't care. He came at her like mutant in a bad Marvel movie. He zipped in and out and was just gone and there again. Leon shouted, "GET DOWN!"

She dropped and the fist the big man threw went over her head. Sherry turned, too fast, and pummeled him twice in the side while he recoiled in pain. Apparently, monster or not, he could still be hurt. He grabbed her face, lifted her off the ground, tilted his head like a dog and Leon slung the knife from his side on the floor.

The big man threw Sherry away, caught the knife a breath from his face, and tilted his head again. It seemed, beneath the ugly sunglasses, the former S.T.A.R.S. Captain was impressed. He mused, "...they said you were something. Is the spine broken then?"

Leon twitched his foot, "...nope. Just wounded."

"Well...shall we see what you can do?"

He turned back as Sherry shot him three times from her place by the window. The bullets simply missed, hitting air and scattering into the bookshelf above Leon. Wesker chuckled, appearing beside her. She swung back and hit him so hard he was spun sideways before she kicked him from the hip and sent him face down to slide along the floor.

Leon leveraged himself up the desk, his legs tingling, and shouted, "My knife, Sherry!"

She kicked it over to him and turned back as Wesker tackled her. He lifted her up, dangled her, and snapped her arm like a twig. Her scream was awful, echoing in the dark chamber. The second her turned her over to snap her neck, he saw something on her face that gave him pause.

Voice tight, he wondered, "...I'd wondered where they were hiding you. You have William's eyes...but you have _my _hunger."

He kicked her in the knee and snapped it, sending her down to cry out again. The knife struck him in the shoulder, making him grunt, as he turned and caught Leon in mid tackle. He lifted him, studying one blonde to another.

"...brave. Stupid, but brave. Did you think to knock me down then?" Wesker jerked the knife out of his shoulder and aimed the blade at Leon's left eye, "How would you fight without your vision? You seem like a fool to me. Where are your men?"

Leon gagged, feet kicking. He kicked from the hip and hit the other man in belly. Wesker laughed, teeth flashing in a grin, "Strong, but still human. You know how this ends. Stop struggling."

Even as his face turned red, Leon kept on kicking.

Shaking his head, Wesker sighed, "Predictable. You just don't stop trying to survive. I tire of you."

He drove the knife forward and Sherry hit him from the side. Leon was ceremoniously dropped to the ground with a grunt, Wesker was taken down in a hard hit that sent them skidding over the floor together, and he rolled over to punch her in the face so hard she felt her socket collapse. _Pop. Crack. Crunch._

Blinded, she collapsed to her face on the floor. Wesker dragged her to her knees and wondered, "Why? Why fight? You're a beautiful thing, a gift, a next level of humanity...why fight against the inevitable?"

He picked up her pistol, turned his shoulder, and shot Leon three times where he raced for them. The vest took it, slinging him to his back to slide into the bookcase so hard it sent old texts down on him like small grenades. "Brave. Idiot. Stay down."

Sherry punched him in the chest and Wesker backhanded her, snapping her jaw. It dangled grotesquely as she kept on trying to hurt him. He looked mostly amazed as he heard the rustling of books, waited, and shot Leon again when he was on his knees. Wesker shot him in the leg this time, making him shout and fall forward into the books and blood.

"...humans...I detest you."

He watched Sherry's jaw start to knit and exclaimed, "...oh yes..._yes! _Don't you see!? This is what you are _made__ for! _Why do you attempt to be human!?"

He emptied the rest of the clip into Leon's direction and heard him sling himself behind the desk for cover.

"See? He hides. He has to...he's just a meat sack. He has no hope of winning here...but _you..._" He caught her left arm that she slung at him and broke the wrist in a swift move. She cried out, eyes knitting, socket reforming, jaw mending, and Wesker mused, "Fast...but not enough. You have inside of you a gift, Sherry, what if I took you and made it...a _legend?"_

The knife whooshed and he caught it like Leon had lobbed him the ball somehow. He drove it into Sherry's throat where she knelt. The blood was everywhere, spraying red and hot. She gagged, body jerking, and her fist came up. Wesker wondered, "Still you fight...can you die I wonder?"

Leon got backhanded so hard when he rushed them that it spun him like a top and sent him rolling over the floor. Wesker laughed, "STAY DOWN! Why do you fight!? FOOL!"

He ripped the knife out of Sherry's throat and drove it into her chest. She punched him in the stomach, but she didn't pull it. She gave it everything she had. Her fist went into his body like she'd punched water. Blood sprayed the walls and soaked her. His bones and muscle collapsed around her enormous strength. Wesker actually shouted in pain and let her go, her hand grabbed for his spine like she'd find it through his belly, and Leon shouted, "LET GO!"

She did.

Just like that.

He kicked from the hip with a grunting taunt, "...you should've killed me instead of playing with me." Wesker stumbled and Sherry grabbed him, shouting in rage, pushing and pushing and pushing. When he grabbed for her, she threw him. He struck the enormous window. Time slowed as it erupted, as it blew apart, as it burst around his body in shards of shattered glass. Bleeding, flying, he turned back for the final villain's remark but Leon beat him to it, "...that it?...pathetic." And he shot him as Wesker curled up as if he'd...what?...teleport?...the bullet hit him between the eyes and he was gone into the rain and the lightning. He plummeted and was lost.

The second he was gone. Leon went to one knee and Sherry grabbed him, pulling him toward her. He laughed, letting her scoop back his hair and check him over. "...really? I'm fine."

She shook her head, face wet with blood and tears, "...he almost killed you. I let that happen. I'm not fast enough or good enough or strong enough...he's-I need...I need whatever he has. I need it to fight him. Do you think...that maybe I can find some kind of v-"

He dragged her down and held her against him. On their knees, they embraced tightly as he warned, "...no. You're not shooting yourself up with anything. Not a damn thing, do you hear me? We're gonna get a team down to the base of this fucking castle and find his body. That's what's gonna happen."

She gripped him, hand over his bleeding thigh and the bullet there as the shame of failing him ate around her guts, "...you don't really believe that."

He shook his head, letting her put pressure on his wound even as he alerted FOS to their position, "...no, I don't...but it never hurts to hope."

Maybe they'd find that out in the rain as well.


	8. Chapter 8

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part One:**

**-Under the Umbrella-**

* * *

**Chapter 8:Vicissitude**

* * *

**Longwaithe Motel - 2005**

* * *

In the swirling rain, the fractured frame of a monster rose from the bloody sand beneath him. He shivered in the cold wind, watching the streaks of light touch the shadows over the ocean and create a jagged burst of power. There was more at play here than just a girl whose father had forsaken her...there was so much more.

He rolled the bullet from his own head in his hand, limping through the storm like a mortal mistake. Incredible how the winds of fate often brought more than opportunities upon you...they often brought the truth as well. Dead? No one was dead here. No one was dying.

But something wonderful had started to give birth in that room with the broken window...something incredible and destined and _real. _He'd found William's legacy in the blood of Ozwell Spencer...and somehow, someway, unbelievably..._he'd found his own_.

_There was more than one way to become a god_.

* * *

They didn't find Wesker's body.

It would have been a pleasant surprise to have actually done so.

As it turned out, it wasn't in the cards. What was, apparently, was Sherry fussing over Leon like a mother hen. When they'd bound his thigh and debriefed them to let them go home. She helped him to the bed at the hotel the agency booked for them before they'd return to his mother's house the next day.

Something on Wesker's face haunted him as he tried to get comfortable. What was it? Some tilt of brow or line of jaw, something he couldn't name or couldn't put his finger on. There was a flash on that evil face that had spoken of feelings that a sociopath shouldn't have had. What was it?

The bullet between the eyes had taken away the last vestiges of human reaction, yes, but what was that before it had struck? What?

_What?_

Leon frowned, tapping his fingers on his good thigh. He'd never met Albert Wesker in the whole of his time battling bad guys post Raccoon City. Why? There was something greater at play here than coincidence. What was it? Why was there a flash of familiarity in him for the face of a monster? Pictures? Was his photographic memory simply channeling pictures through various lectures and long debriefings?

What was sticking in his mind like a thorn?

When Sherry closed the door and went to the bathroom, Leon eased his sore leg up on the bed and groaned. The pain killer had taken the edge off, but his whole leg still throbbed like only a bullet wound could. Curious, he asked, "You in the next room down tonight?"

She came back with a bottle of water and the antibiotics he was meant to take to prevent the wound from festering. "Nope. Just the one room. You have to share, Mr. Kennedy."

He blinked as she set her gun on the table and tugged off her holster. She was sticky with blood but unharmed. Broken bones, beat down, pummeled and tossed around and she wasn't even bruised. She was miraculous. Apparently, the original intent of the G-Virus had done it's job - it helped heal the sick and broken. Too bad it also made most of them monsters. The vaccine had been given to a little girl that was almost turned. Somehow it had stopped the virus from growing and left her with all the strengths and none of the limitations or gross perversion of infection.

The human body, despite Wesker's protestations, was an incredible machine.

He wondered if he'd ever stop reliving the horror of watching Wesker break her apart out of some sociopathic curiosity.

The rage of it was uncomfortable for Leon. He didn't like feeling the need for revenge. He wanted to keep this as professional as possible. Imagining killing Wesker for personal reasons was how one quickly descended into a Chris Redfield style obsession with his demise. It never ended well, it limited what kind of work you did, it made sure any choice you made was tainted with feelings.

It was bad to let things get personal. He was, generally, a man who was careful about the job.

Sherry lifted her shirt from her pants and had him lifting his brows, "...you kidding?"

"Nope. I'm not leaving you alone. You're wounded and I saw today what we both keep forgetting."

He narrowed his eyes at her, "...what's that?"

She gave him a cool look over her shoulder before she lifted her filthy shirt and tossed it on the floor. She was something in that pink bra she was wearing, the skin unmarred and clean of blood from where the shirt had taken the brunt of it. Her pretty mounded cleavage was pale and untouched as she answered, "...mortal. I should have never let you go after him like that. I won't make the same mistake again...starting tomorrow, you're gonna teach me everything you know...and then you're gonna retire."

His brows went all the way into his hair as she stalked toward the bathroom. After a handful of seconds, he laughed, "Excuse me?"

From the sound of the shower running, she called, "You're done. You almost died today..._again..._I'm done playing games with you. How can you even attempt to make me believe this is what you do, Leon!? You're not fast enough, strong enough, or _monster _enough to fight things like Albert Wesker. If I hadn't been there..."

She trailed off.

He sat on the bed fuming. Was she kidding? She thought she could tell him what to do here?

Annoyed, he swung his legs off the bed, cursed with anger at the pain, and stiffly moved into the bathroom. He could see her outline behind the foggy shower door as he barked, "Number one - I've managed to survive just fine without you at my side all these years. So, don't get a big head thinking you're some kind of savior. Two - I'm not sure what universe you're living in where you think you get to command me."

Sherry said nothing.

The silence dragged on until he snapped, "I'm a fucking _man, _Sherry, not a child. You don't boss me around."

He was aware, however, that he was also stomping his foot like a child to proclaim himself one...so maybe he wasn't as mature as he wanted to be about this. However, he wasn't about to back down. She couldn't possibly think the best option was for him to just give up. Didn't she know who he was?

She jerked open the door to the shower and had him nearly giving himself whiplash as he looked away from her naked body so fast it made him groan a little. "Exactly. You're a _man. __A MAN. _Not a mythological hero. A man. He would have ripped you apart and made you a memory. I promised your mother I'd protect you, so that's what I'm doing."

His jaw flexed as he stared at the ceiling, "My mother!? What is this...chic solidarity? Female power? I can take care of myself. The both of you are out of line."

Sherry laughed angrily, "Of course you can. We both know that too, but I didn't ask what you wanted. I told you what I'm here to do. You protect me, I protect you. That's the deal. I'm not a child anymore. You don't have to keep doing this. QUIT! Get a life! Go out and find a woman and get married!"

Jesus, her heart hurt just shouting that at him.

He laughed with his own ire, "We met!? I ain't the marryin kind, sweetheart."

He was something else staring at the ceiling like she might burn his eyeballs out of his head if he glanced at her.

Sherry tapped her bare foot in the shower and snapped, "...far as I can tell, you're not the anything kind. You don't date, you don't fuck, you don't even look. They're boobs, not bombs, Leon. Take a peek."

His teeth flashed in a seething smile, "Close the door, Sherry. Stop acting like a whore."

Absorbing that, she returned, "I'm not a whore, you jerk, you're a _prude."_

She snapped the door closed and went back to her shower.

Leon tapped his boot, fuming. Retire. Who was she kidding? He was a slave. You didn't retire from slavery. Did she think they'd just let him walk away? Did she think he was the type of man who _would_?

He'd see it through, all of it, every last battle. He wasn't a man who quit halfway up the goddamn hill. Didn't she know that!?

With a snort of anger, Sherry told him, "Go lay down, Leon, I'll be out in a minute."

He grabbed the door of the shower and jerked it open. Her hands snapped over her delicate parts, hiding them. At the core of it, she was still a lady. It was her first instinct to cover herself. Surprised, she almost huddled in the water before she turned to face him, head tilted. "Can I help you?"

And then?

Then his gaze went from head to toe, lingered at her hips and tits, and settled again on her face. She swallowed hard, heart knocking, and he gruffed, "...not a prude...a gentleman. Big fucking difference. I look, I just don't touch...and I don't run."

Her breath caught. She trembled in the shower and finally whispered, "...then get in."

It was a heavy moment. His jaw flexed. Her hands lowered from where she'd been half halfheartedly covering her mons and her breasts. She let him get the full monty and she managed not to curl forward in embarrassment. She'd taunted after all. She couldn't back down now. She couldn't quite look at his face while she lowered those hands though, he thought with a rush of adoration for her, she stared at point two inches to the left of his face.

Her nipples were pink. He'd dreamed it, he knew it now without question. Pink and white. She was pink and white like a natural blonde would be. Her belly was flat and lined with soft suggestions of muscle. Delicate. Every thing on her was delicate somehow, even as it was strong and feminine. His gaze lowered and lingered at her groin. Her pretty little pussy was topped with a soft suggestion of sweet blonde hair. Yeah, he thought with a snap of anger, she was better than he'd pictured. He'd thrown down the gauntlet, so now it was time to prove it.

He could run, or he could show her exactly what he was worth.

He stepped into the heavy spray and closed the shower door.

She'd thought she was calling his bluff, apparently...he was calling hers. Sherry's face flamed with color and she whispered, "...Leon..._your bandage..._"

His voice was hard and heavy like he was for her. Damn her. Why did it make him so angry to want her? He growled, "Who cares? Your move, kiddo. What now?"

Sherry gathered herself. She rose to her full height and he watched her hands tremble as she shoved her heavy soaked hair behind her shoulders, thrusting her breasts forward without meaning to. She cleared her throat, licked her lips, and tried to sound worldly and mature, "...I think you kiss me now."

He tilted his head at her, "You think? You don't know? This is your game, sweetheart. You started it. You're the big man on campus here...what happens now?"

He watched her face flame so red she had to be dizzy with it as she confessed, eyes turning down, "...I-I don't...I don't know."

He felt a flash of guilt and shame over pushing her. Of course she didn't know. He knew that. He knew she was untouched, unsullied and somehow, someway, after surviving what she had...pure. He knew that.

He was letting his anger over her concern for his safety drive him to hurt her. It was cruel, and he was never cruel. Stupid maybe, but never cruel. It had been a long night. Albert Wesker had emasculated him, tossing him around like a toy without any purpose. He'd made a mockery of all the training, all the natural ability, and all the gifted good luck that had made Leon Kennedy a name to be feared and admired in their business.

He'd reduced him to a wet behind the ears rookie without the seasoned skills of a veteran. It was humiliating. He'd needed a _girl _to save him. A girl. _This _girl. He was angry at her for being who she was and trying to protect him.

It was ridiculous. It wasn't her fault that Albert Wesker had whipped the shit out of him. She'd done the best she could to level the playing field in there. She'd been beat to pieces almost trying.

He was being an asshole because he felt like half a man, and the half of man that was left? It wanted to fuck her against the shower wall while she creamed and cried with pleasure to prove he was a bad ass.

It was pathetic and it made him feel like a fucking bastard.

Voice soft, he shook his head and stepped forward. She didn't even fight him, which hurt even worse somehow, she just melted against him as he drew her into the circle of his arms and held her in the steaming water. His cheek laid atop her head as she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face against his chest.

Gruffly, he told her, "...I'm sorry, kid. It's been...it's been a bad night."

She nodded. She whimpered softly and sniffled. Feeling like a jackass, he held her tighter, "Don't cry, Sherry. Don't cry, ok? I'm sorry. I'm a douchebag. Don't cry."

He sounded so desperate, pleading almost, that she nodded again to please him. Her voice broke a little as she spoke into his chest and it was muffled by his soaked shirt, "...I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have taunted you...I just-I can't even tell you what it's like to be me sometimes. I can do things...I can take it, ya know? But you...under all that training and skill...you're just so fragile...if he'd snapped your spine...or shoved his fist into your chest...I just-"

Her voice hitched and her clutching hands held harder. Leon shook his head. He lifted her against him until she was on tiptoe. She shifted her arms from his waist to his shoulders, clutching him to her. He spoke low and soothing, "...I'm tougher than I look, kid. You're just...you're just gonna have to trust me."

She felt the warm seep of blood from his soaked bandaged thigh and whispered, "...I trust you...I just don't want to lose you. I love you, Leon."

He made a small sound of denial. She caught his face and turned it down to her. She kissed his mouth in the hot water and said it again, gushing with it, "...I _love _you. I would do anything to keep you safe." She kissed his nose, "I would do anything for you..."

His hands lifted and twisted in her yards of hair. He pulled her up further until her breath came out in a high gasp of pleasure and her breasts brushed wetly against his soaked shirt. He shook his head and warned, "...look, but don't touch. I'm not a prude, but I'm not a saint either, Sherry. You gotta stop testing me."

Her hands slid down his back and over his butt. She gripped him and made their groins rub. Sherry wasn't the only one who shivered, "...I'm not testing. I'm ready. I'm ready, Leon. I don't want to wait anymore. I just want..."

"...what?" His tone was pained. Her hands tested and rubbed him against her again. The struggle on his face made her feel incredible. She felt like a _woman _finally...finally. She was a woman to him.

Sherry's voice cracked as she confessed, "I don't know...I just..._want."_

Leon licked his lips twice and answered hoarsely, "...It's a _mistake_, Sherry. It's just an urge. I don't wanna hurt you here."

Sherry turned her mouth a little left and it slid against his. She pleaded, "...you're the one that's hurting..I can help you...I can help..let me...life is short, Leon. The mistake is living it afraid of just...saying _yes."_

Leon made one last bid to hold on to their distance, even though they were there with her naked in his arms. His hands untangled from her hair and shifted to her shoulders to set her away. Sherry's left hand let go of his butt to grip his wrist. She tremulously kissed his tight lips and used his hand to splay it over her chest as she urged, "My heart is pounding...I'm so scared."

Leon shook his head and his voice broke like a boy in puberty, making Sherry laugh softly as he confessed, "..you? I feel like I might piss myself...some hero, huh?"

Sherry giggled and invited, "...I think that's good. It's good, right? You're only afraid when it matters."

Leon grumbled, lips brushing over hers as his hand eased down her chest, "...good. Right. This is _good. _You sure, Sherry? Be sure."

Two inches south of where his hand rested was the needy curve of her breast. He could just cup it, feel it, taste it. He could do that, but he wouldn't be a good guy anymore. He'd be the guy who fucked the pretty girl who trusted him to prove he was a man.

He was taking advantage of her. The look on her face said _she_ was taking advantage of _him. _He was really tired of being a good guy.

"...last chance."

He sounded so tortured. Pain. He was in it from thigh to balls to brains. She wanted to ease all of it for them both. He wanted her in a way that was painful for him to resist. It made her feel irresistible as she spoke through dry, eager lips, "...I'm sure...I'm rea-"

His phone was ringing in the main part of the hotel room. It was coupled by a ferocious pounding on the door that was loud and insistent. Leon let go of Sherry and lifted his finger to his lips to immediately silence her.

She nodded, leaving the shower on as she reached around the door for the robe hanging there.

He stepped out, soaked, and tugged his dripping sidearm from his holster as he moved into the main room. The shadow at the door was gone, but there was an envelope on the floor that someone had slid beneath it. Curious, he kicked it with his boot as his phone started to ring again.

His hand flipped it open and put it to his ear when the voice on the other end commanded, "Open the package, Mr. Kennedy...and I would advise to make the right decision here."

The caller hung up.

Sherry emerged in the robe with her gun in her hands.

Leon used the barrel of his gun to open the manilla envelope and see the little camera that spilled out. He picked it up and hit play on the tiny screen. After a moment, a face in a black mask backed off from the eye of the camera.

"Is this working?" The accent was Slavic of some kind.

The other man in the room barked, "Get on with it! Keep it short!"

The masked man turned to the left and just like that he could see where they were.

_His mother's house._

Sherry gasped.

The camera bobbled to show his mother's basement and two people bound in chairs. Not just her. She wasn't. Beside her, Claire Redfield was bound and bleeding from the mouth and forehead.

Sherry whispered, "...oh my god..."

The man beside Claire had a Beretta. He touched her breasts with it and she spit at him which earned her a backhanded hit to the face. The laughing man with the camera taunted, "Your girlfriend is _fiesty, _Mr. Kennedy! I will rape her while she fights!"

The man beside Claire instructed, "Answer your phone, Mr. Kennedy."

His phone rang. He picked it up and the moment he answered, he knew it wasn't a camera, it was a communicator. He was seeing this show in real time. Sherry was already dressing without being asked.

The man instructed, "I will give you one hour to get here. One hour. In that hour, I will only play with your world. If you do not hand over the girl in your care for the women in mine, I will kill them both. I will fuck your mother, I will let my friend over there fuck your woman and then I will use this gun to blow my load inside of each of them while they cry and die splattered on these pretty old walls. Do you understand me? One hour."

Leon spoke, tone empty, "I understand you."

"Good. You will trade us the girl with you. We will take her and we will kill you. When we are gone, your mother and your woman will be safe. Do we have a deal?"

Soaked, uncaring, Leon followed Sherry out to the car and let her drive. He kept on watching the horrible show as the two men took turns touching Claire and his mother. H_is sick, dying, terrified mother. _The rage in his body was nearly numbing.

He spoke, just once, and just as cold as the wind that hit his face with the water still on it. "You touch her again, I'm gonna do more than kill you. I'm gonna fuck you to death with your own hand."

His mother's voice came, soft, scared, but strong, "No! Leon! Say nothing! Do nothing!"

Claire shouted, "Leon! Get to Chris! They have C-"

The man hit her again in the face with the butt of his Beretta. She slumped, gasping for air. He shouted, voice angry, "Mr. Kennedy! _That _is not part of our deal! You give us the Birkin girl, we give your mother and woman freedom. Do we have a deal!?"

He said nothing.

The gun on Claire had the hammer dropped. She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. "No answer? Then perhaps you need some incentive to agree."

He put the gun to Claire's forehead and Vera shouted, "NO! No! No! Look here...look at me...me first, ok? She's young. She's so young. I'm his _mother..._I'm old and sick...me first...ok?"

Claire shook her head, looking terrified, "...Mrs. Kennedy...don't please. I can take it, I promise you. Me! Ok?! Not her!"

The man scoffed, "Such brave girls. You are lucky. This kind of bravery is unheard of...also useless...you will give us Sherry or no?"

Leon's voice was so scary that Sherry felt her skin pebble with gooseflesh, "...no."

She gasped, shaking in her seat, "Stay away! Do you hear me, Leon!? _YOU STAY AWAY FROM HERE!"_

It got her hit in the face for the effort and shot in the belly for her son's refusal.

Sherry cried out. Claire screamed in protest. Leon's teeth flashed like a wolf set to pounce. "...I'm gonna enjoy killing you."

The man tsk tsk at him. He hit Claire twice in her shouting face. She went silent, bleeding and unconscious now. "Say one more word to me, you stupid American macho fool. I will make you watch while I fuck your woman."

Vera was sagged forward, bleeding from a gutshot.

The man pointed at camera, "Forty six minutes...don't be late."

The screen clicked off.

Sherry was already flying down the road. She pressed the pedal to the floor completely. The silence lengthened. The wet of his hair dripped down his neck to his soaked shirt. The sound of it plopping on the leather was only thing besides the roar of the engine.

Voice laced with fear, she urged, "...what's the plan?"

He said nothing.

She tried again, "Leon?"

He stared straight forward, jaw flexing.

She finally shouted, "Leon!"

He jerked his gaze to her and she pleaded, "Stay with me, ok? Think. What's the plan? I can take the damage. You want me to go first?"

He shook his head. His voice was low and dragging, "No. They have something to incapacitate you. They know we're coming. It's a trap. Pull over and get out. Wait for FOS to get you from the side of the road."

"...what?"

"I said pull over."

Sherry shook her head, whipping the car around the corner, "No. No way. You think I'll let you go alone!? You're scared and angry. You're being stupid. I won't leave you."

He lifted the gun in his hand and aimed it at her temple, "We both know you'll heal this, but you won't survive whatever they've got planned for you. I won't let them have you and my mother and Claire. They can't have it all. I'll shoot you now to save you that. Pull this fuckin car over and don't make me."

Her hand slapped his face and rang in the quiet interior. She barked, "We both know I could make a pretzel out of that damn hand cannon without breaking a sweat. So don't you _dare _threaten me! _We're partners! _You just ripped me a new asshole back there for being a stupid fool trying to protect you! Stop doing the same! I am your partner now! You go, I go. You fight, I fight! Otherwise...go back to the fucking motel and I will save the day. Your choice."

He was so quiet that she spit, "Now get that damn gun out of my face and work with me. What's the plan?"

After a few moments, he lowered the gun. He leaned back on the seat and inhaled hard and sharp. She watched his hands trembled and checked the impulse to comfort him. It wasn't time. They weren't there yet. There was still hope.

What was he always saying?

It cost them nothing to hope.

Into the dark car, he told her, "The plan is kill every last fucking one of them."

"...best plan I've heard all day."

She focused on the road. She felt him draw down whatever strength he gathered from the universe in moments like this. Without looking over, she gripped his wrist and squeezed once. He nodded.

It was like a hug in the shower in its own way, but this one somehow meant more than any one before it. It was solidarity. It was a promise. No matter the vicissitudes, they were in it together now.


	9. Chapter 9

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part One:**

**-Under the Umbrella-**

* * *

**Chapter 9: Orphan**

* * *

She was hoping the cops wouldn't be far behind. A quick phone call to the authorities netted them a very enthusiastic local officer looking to play hero. Leon was clear that they should stagger their arrival so they didn't alert the kidnappers unnecessarily.

They both knew they were on borrowed time. A gut shot was fatal even with immediate medical attention sometimes. How long did Vera really have? It had been eight minutes since her being wounded. She'd be lucky to make it to thirty.

They needed to move fast, silent, and nearly invisible. It was a good thing she was with the right man for it.

They called him The Ghost. It was whispered from lips that were too careful to say it where he might over hear and retaliate. It was whispered in corners by faceless minions that feared what happened if he turned corporeal in the dark to separate your soul from your body. He'd grown from the gun wielding bad ass who'd saved a girl from over a thousand captors, to a knife toting harbinger of death - the type that slipped through shadows with a thieves soundless grace.

He was a death dealer, a dark avenger, a veritable breath in a breeze you'd feel just before you died. Rumors. Conjecture. Conversation. Stories. The type that was meant to make the wrong side fear him.

Just rumors.

And yet Sherry understood when he stepped out the car what the rumors meant.

She'd seen him as so many things in her life - her anchor, her great protector, her hearts desire. She'd come to expect him to fall into this box she'd set aside for him that was labeled **Hero** and had his face with hearts around it in her head. It was where he was vulnerable and gentle, strong but sweet somehow, determined and loyal and steadfast. Her stalwart champion with a heart of gold.

The man who stepped out of that car into the bitter wind wasn't a hero - he was a hitman.

He had Sherry park to the side in the woods and the dark. He'd given her specific instructions to protect her and place her in the role of backup. He'd given commands with an unflinching face that reminded her of Agent Kennedy - if Agent Kennedy had no soul.

He slipped through the woods with a silenced pistol in one hand and a knife in the other. She flanked him, shifting through underbrush in constant awe that he didn't make a sound. There was no breaking twigs or crackling leaves. There was just the glimpse of his face in a blanket of black.

One of the men guarding the perimeter was taking a piss. Sherry stopped moving when Leon jerked his head. He circled through the dark and there was the soft muffled sound of rustling leaves and a wet gasp. She watched the man collapse in the leaves. The blood that pumped from his severed carotid was dark as ink in the snow.

He divested the man of his vest and offered it to Sherry who slipped it on over her coat. He stuffed the sock hat the man was wearing onto his own head and tucked his pistol into the small of his back.

Leon rolled his head to signal her again and Sherry joined him as they circled toward the back of the house. He paused, judged the distance, and the pistol gave a silenced puff of air as he fired it. She squinted to see the man on his mother's roof tumble back into the dark. Impressed, she thought about him talking about the eagle eye of a quarter from a thousand years.

He wasn't bluffing. He'd just taken out their look out man. Sherry glanced at his profile with something she couldn't quite name. What was it? It was a little bit of hero worship, and she was delighted to discover he was as good as they said he was. He deserved the praise.

The shift of shadows had her halting. He followed her gaze, sighted, and put a shot through the temple of a man in the woods doing a perimeter sweep. He went down with a rustle of leaves and twigs. They moved toward the back door of the house and Sherry ducked behind the pile of wood as a man rounded the corner from the porch.

He was met with a hand over his mouth and knife shoved up under his sternum. Leon held on while the light died in his eyes and the blood gushed wet and hot down his fist. The moment the eyes filmed, he lowered the body and stuffed it behind the pile.

Sherry heard voices inside the house laughing and arguing. Music was piping like it was the world's biggest party. The pulse of a heavy bass punctuated the air around them.

Leon eased around to the small window near the kitchen and peeked inside. A quick tally told him there were eight men in there. She watched his eyes shift and turn, strafing from one side to the other. He lowered himself and told her, voice sharp, "Two by the living room near her rocking chair. There's one in the kitchen at the table napping. Two more in the hallway, one in the bathroom. The last two are on the couch beyond the wall in the living room."

Sherry nodded and told him, "Let me go in first and take their fire. You can come behind me and clean house."

He shook his head and remarked, "No."

Sherry blinked at him. She wanted to argue, but instead her mouth responded, "...ok." She sounded meak, she felt useless. She didn't know how to help a man who looked like he might hurt her if she defied him.

She'd never seen him look so solemn and yet so terribly dark. Not professional, no, but lost. He was a war machine, and he wasn't in the mood for heroics.

He watched her face and remarked, "...wait here."

He eased around the side of the house and was gone. Sherry waited, listening intently, and the sounds of footsteps signaled men emerging from the house. One of them grunted, "..I'm telling you I smelled gas."

Another laughed, "...your own farts most likely, you nasty bastard."

It was the moment she knew they weren't trained killers. These were no better than hired hitters. They were poorly assembled and clearly under trained. What was the reason for sending such a sad squad of second rate mercenaries?

They were loud and they weren't careful. They threatened and shot their hostage. They over played their very limited hand. Sherry was a baby in a big bad world here, and even she knew what amateur looked like. This was all so desperately easy and it shouldn't have been. The music pumping out of the house sounded like a party. Did they think it would cover up what they were doing?

Or did they simply think they'd won?

The men both laughed. They came down the steps and rounded the wood pile. Sherry stabbed the first one in the throat and the second started to raise the alarm when she ripped his throat out. Hand to flesh, fingers curled, and she just ripped it out in a squelch of blood and severed muscle. His mouth worked like a landed fish as he collapsed face down in the snow. Sherry let their bodies drop and turned to find Leon watching her in the dark.

She held his gaze, unflinching, and he nodded. She followed him around the corner of the house toward the bedroom windows. He cradled his hands and boosted her in. She waited by the dresser until he joined her.

One the men came down the hallway laughing and headed into the bathroom. Leon crept in behind him, used a towel from the rack by the tub, and wrapped it like a noose around the man's throat as he tossed water on his face. He grunted, forced into complete silence by the gloved hand over his mouth. He strangled, eyes wide and terrified and the wet snap of his neck breaking was lost under the revelry from the living room.

He laid his body quietly in the tub and turned back to find Sherry dragging a second body into the bedroom. She'd simply met him in the hallway face to face and stabbed him straight through the soft underside of his jaw. The knife went in, went right on up into his sinus cavities and worked like a clamp to hold his mouth shut as he died. His nose spilled blood as his eyes rolled.

Another man came around the corner, froze, and Leon's knife took him through the right eye as it was launched at him like a dart. He collapsed to his knees as one of the men queried, "Joel?" He came around the corner to find Joel fall to his face in a widening pool of blood.

His arm shot out reflexively, his pistol starting to rise. It was silenced by Leon's bulk pinning him against the wall and Sherry gasped in horror as Leon's body jerked and took the hit. She knew it had gotten him in the stomach or close to it. The damage was done, but the music did the rest to muffle the rapport. He'd made her wear the stupid vest! He'd used his body like a pillow to obscure the sound.

There were reasons he was scarred up like that. Apparently, when in the moment, a stomach was just as good as a bullet proof vest.

Leon shoved his silenced pistol into the other man's sternum and pulled the trigger. The last man came around the corner and Sherry aimed at him and commanded, quietly, "Speak and I will turn your head into a canoe."

Leon crouched and picked up the fallen attacker's knife demanding of the last survivor, "How many downstairs?"

"...j-j-just two. Just two."

Sherry glanced at Leon who gave her the same look in return. What kind of kindergarten class had taken his mother's house? It was either an insult to his skills by tossing up toddlers with pistols at him, or it was an egregious miscalculation on whoever was pulling the strings here. Why? If they wanted Sherry, why not send a team that could get the job done?

"No secondary team?"

The man shrugged and shook his head, saying hoarsely, "...we were just supposed to get you here. That's it. Hold the women, and wait. We did that."

Sherry furrowed her brow. Something was off here. It had been off since the moment that package had slid under the door. Who'd found them? Who knew they were there? The whole operation was off the books. The only people in the world who'd known about it were in this hallway and down in that basement.

Why not just kick down the door and kill him right there at the motel? Why not smoke them out and finish it? What was this game they were playing? Why send in a pathetic excuse of a team to test him?

The second she thought it, her mind latched onto the idea. Test him. That's what this was. Someone, somewhere was testing him. She was just betting that Vera wasn't meant to die. She was betting her death was simply a by product of a botched kidnapping job. Whoever it was, they didn't care if she died, but that wasn't the end goal. The goal was Leon.

They wanted to know what he was capable of.

Why?

Leon grabbed the man and slung him around like a human shield, pushing him forward, "Call out and give the all clear. Let them know you saw us coming up the road to the house."

The man nodded rapidly and called, "...the package is in play!"

Again, a stupid thing to do. He could have guaranteed those women died down there by shouting a warning. Why cooperate? Because he was just a thug, and a thug feared for his own life more than his job.

Thugs who listened to hard bass while they murdered women. There was a flicker on Leon's face that was almost giddy. He wasn't a cool killer now, he was a man in the middle of a mad quest for revenge.

The two men from the video came laughing around the bottom of the staircase. Leon shoved the man in his arms at the first one and shot them both through his back. He hit and created a teeter totter of bodies. They all fell to the floor as Leon put his boot to the back of the man atop the pile and blew his head apart from the back at close range. Blood and brains splattered the men beneath him as they panicked, shouting and struggling.

The first man yelled, "Wait! I have mon-"

Leon thrust the knife in his left hand through his mouth to shut him up. It splattered blood onto the man on the bottom. The man who'd shot his mother. Sherry was already freeing Claire and they were lowering his mother to the floor behind him.

The man on the bottom pleaded, "Please! I didn't even want to do it!"

"Who sent you after me!?"His roar of command was deafening.

The man whimpered and trembled and stuttered, "I don't know! They just said you were a traitor! You stole what was theirs! They sent us to get it back. We were to get the girl and finish you all off after we had her! I-I have a number! A number in my phone that they called from! I have that. I can- I can lead you to the bar where he found us...we're just...he said to threaten you. He said make sound bad...he said your woman and your mother were just...disposable."

The rage on the man above him made the fearful former biker turned thug stutter, "...I can give you everything I have on him! Tall guy...ugly! Big nose and ears."

Sherry shouted, "The name of the bar, you son of a bitch!"

"McGuffreys! Out on 169! What else do you want!? It's yours! Whatever you want...it's yours!"

"...I want you to die choking on your own fucking blood." Leon thrust the knife in his hand into the belly of the man while he squealed and struggled, trapped from the hips down by his dead comrades.

Leon left him to bleed and gasp, gurgling and trying desperately to hold his stomach together. The smell of intestinal gasses was strong as Leon hurried toward his mother. She was pale and her mouth blue.

She smiled up at him as he crouched, the rage on his face collapsing into desperation. "Mama..._please_...call for help Sherry!"

She dialed wildly just in case, but she knew they were already on their way. Sherry cried, "They're coming. You know that. We called before we left the motel. They're coming."

Her voice was soft and scared. Claire, pale, told them, "...I need that, Sherry..they said they'd go after Chris. They said when I was dead, he was next. They..." She took the cellphone Sherry offered and dialed.

His phone answered to the sounds of a struggle. Terrified, Claire told them, "...they've got him...oh god..._they've got him!_"

She paced a little as Leon checked the wound on his mother who moaned pitifully and tried to smile like a champion. His heart was in his ears. He'd been doing this long enough. He knew what it was.

It was mortal. She was bleeding everywhere. It was a mortal wound. In his world, this was the moment he lifted his gun and put a bullet between the eyes of the dying. But his hands...his hands...they just kept trying to save her.

Claire was shouting, "I need some fucking keys! I need a car! I need-" She was searching the pockets of the dead men, demanding, "Sherry! Where is your car!?"'

Sherry, torn between trying to help them both, tossed the keys at Claire haphazardly. The redhead grabbed them up and urged, "Where, Sherry?! Where did you park?"

Sherry shook her head, trying to dig through the downstairs bathroom for any kind of first aid. Distracted, she confessed, "I don't know. It was dark. It was the middle of nowhere. Somewhere by the road...Leon! I can't find anything in here! Do you know where she might keep something? Baby powder? Anything?"

He leaned down on his mother's belly with the hat from his head in an attempt to tampenade the bleeding. Sherry shoved past Claire to bring him a heavy towel from beneath the sink. He switched it out, leaning on it. His mother laid her bloody hands over his and nearly killed him where he crouched.

Claire's voice broke into the battle for sanity, "North!? East!? Where, Sherry!? I need to find the fucking car! I need you to stop for a minute and just he-"

Sherry's shout was so loud it echoed through the cold basement, "Goddamnit Claire -I don't know! It's out there! It's there! It's waiting for you to run! So RUN! _GO CLAIRE! _GO! This is what you do! Who needs you!? GO! You're good at running!"

Claire's face, bruised and battered, collapsed with pain as she whispered, "...he's my brother..."

"And this is his _mother!..._I'm done with this! Get out! GO!"

Sherry shoved a bloody hand at her hip, spinning the redhead half around from where she knelt on the floor trying to help Leon. He was already shaking. His hands were clammy. She was afraid she'd lose him to shock before they could even try to save his mother here.

"I don't care, Claire! I don't care anymore! Just fucking go! Leave us alone!"

Claire hesitated. She felt tears on her cheeks and her voice broke, "...I can't do anything here...I just-I can't help...she saved my life...I know that...but my brother - I...I'm so fucking sorry...I have to."

Under his breath, voice hard, Leon spit, "...bitch."

Claire backed up, face a mask of regret, "...I'll do what I can to send help..I swear to god."

Sherry's final shout bounced around the room like a boom of thunder, "_Just get the hell out of here, Claire! NOW!"_

Claire's footsteps retreated up the stairs. She'd run. It was all she knew how to do. She just ran. She just left you when you were down and out and broken. She just ran away and left you alone.

Sherry knew part of that thought was a girl still inside the woman who was trying so hard to be brave for the man whose life was bleeding away beside her.

Leon put pressure on his mother's stomach while Sherry scrambled to find anything to seal the wounds. She ripped open drawers on Vera's sewing station, hoping to find anything to stitch the wound. Could you stitch a gut shot? She didn't know, but she was going to try.

Vera moaned pitifully. Her hands slackened above his.

He couldn't stop the bleeding. He shouted, "Where the fuck is that goddamn ambulance!?"

He could hear the sirens coming as his mother gasped. A bubble of blood appeared like a the throat of a bullfrog from her blue lips. She squeezed his hands like she wanted him to look at her. He wasn't sure what was on his face - desperation, fear, terrible regret. He was afraid if he looked at her, he'd turn to stone.

But he looked anyway, his face smeared in blood, his eyes wild with fear as she soothed, "...bible..." It was hoarse and whispering.

Bible? Was she telling him to believe in God? What?

He shook his head, denying, "They're coming! They're.._fuck _this..." He picked her up in his arms and ran.

Sherry, shouting his name, gave chase up the stairs as he ran out of the house with Vera against him like a frail and fragile doll. She dangled, lifeless, even as he shouted into the open night, "HELP! _For the love of god...HELP!"_

It broke her heart to hear it. He wasn't a man who shouted for help. She knew in her bones this was the most terrified he'd ever been.

Vera had one last gush of consciousness, wanting him to know he wasn't alone. She wanted to give him this, this one last thing. This one last part of him. She tried, but her weakened body wouldn't give her the confession she wanted. It just gave him the last breath she had. His mother gasped, hands grabbing at his coat, "...nightstand..."

She went so still.

Later, he'd think he'd lost his mind. He could almost float above himself and see it happening. She stopped breathing. He shouted in denial and terror. He laid her in the grass and started pumping on her chest. Blood was everywhere, sticky, tacky and coppery scented on wind cold and brisk.

He pumped and bled, pumped and couldn't tell anymore what was his mother's blood and what was his. He jerked off the coat when it got in the way and kept on going in his soaked t-shirt. When Sherry offered to take over, he let her, rising to pace and shake and spear his bloody hands through his sticky hair.

There was something wrong with him as his thoughts felt scattered and incomplete. He shook his head, like a dog coming out of water, trying to clear his brain of the cobwebs. He cycled back in to keep trying to bring her back. Sherry laid a hand on his back but said nothing as he worked.

He pumped as the ambulance and the police finally arrived.

Sherry finally spoke, voice broken, "...she's gone..."

He kept pumping.

She gripped a handful of his shit and tried again, "...she's gone Leon...let her go..."

He shook his head, voice wild with desperation, "She's sleeping. The meds she's on...they make her sleep hard. She's sleeping."

Heart broken, Sherry crouched beside him. She slid a hand down his chest where he pumped, muscles trembling, eyes locked on his dead mother's face looking for any sign of life. She slid her hand down until it cupped over the wound in his upper left stomach. She pressed on it and made him gasp in pain.

"Yes...you're bleeding everywhere. You're bleeding all over her. Let her go, Leon...let her go..."

His arms went rock hard with denial. He shook his head, no. His mouth murmured it, "..no...she's-she sleeps so hard. You just don't know, Sherry. You just-she needs-_why aren't you helping me!?"_

He shouted it at the paramedics and police that had started to gather. He shouted it at her, "Intubate her! Get her to the fucking hospital!_ What the hell is wrong with you people!?"_

Sherry cupped his face. She held it and leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead. He shook his shoulders to try to dislodge her and keep pumping. She finally gripped his wrists and held him still. It was easy enough, she could throw him across the entire lawn if she had to.

She held him still and spoke soft but urgent, "...say it out loud. Listen to it..and say it."

His voice broke painfully, "...there's too much blood." He lifted his bloody hands and shook his head. He put his face down and his ear over her thin chest. He listened like he might hear her heartbeat one last time.

Heartbroken, Sherry whispered, "...tell me what that means."

Voice empty, he whispered, "...she's dead. Her heart-she's dead. She's dead now."

He rose up. He looked dizzy somehow. He was lost somewhere between shock and denial.

Sherry laid her forehead against his and nodded as his terrified, bloody, tired face collapsed with grief. She nodded again and her eyes sparkled with tears as her voice broke, "I know...I know..._I know..."_

Shock. It made a mess out of the most impenetrable man. It made a hero into a damsel in distress. It made a mockery of all the training he'd had to handle a crisis without a feeling of his own. He just..fell apart.

He collapsed forward against her and broke her heart. His arms clutched and clung, she guided him away from his mother's body so the paramedics could take her. Her hands pressed on his belly and she pressed kisses to his neck and cheek as he buried his face against her chest to grieve. She pleaded, "...let me help you...please? Let me help you now...you're bleeding too much. Let me help."

He let his arms drop. She lifted up his shirt and took the hemostatic powder the paramedic dumped in her palm. She smeared it over his belly and laid the gauze over it next. She held it there, forehead to his, mouth kissing over his jaw.

He put his face against the curve of her neck and shoulder and just breathed. She cupped his face, holding him to her. The people milled around them and began to make sense of the madness.

Claire was gone, chasing the men who might have killed her brother. The car was gone, so she'd found it on her own. Sherry tried to drum up concern for Chris Redfield, but the only thing she could find inside of her was a sense of another kind of death. Whatever she'd had left in her for Claire had died in that house tonight. The part that understood the need to protect your family was lost under the part that came with knowing that she'd run when she could have stayed and helped them. She'd run and let Leon's mother die to save her. She'd run and let Leon get wounded to do the same.

She'd run.

And Leon had paid the price.

For Sherry, it was as unforgivable as if she'd pulled the trigger herself.

Sherry watched the wind tickle the trees over the house where he'd grown from a boy to a hero. His sanctuary. His safe haven. His home.

There was nothing left of it now but blood and death.

She knew it was more than his mother who had died this night. There was no place left in the world now that was just his, just him, just the boy he'd been before the world had made him a warrior. There was nothing left of the rookie who'd wanted to save the world.

He was, it seemed, the thing they'd whispered of in the darkened rooms. He was just a ghost. She knew what had died here was what was left of the boy who wanted to serve and protect.

Whatever was left of him would need her now more than ever. They had no one now but each other.

The ambulance doors closed and sealed away Vera's body. It left into the night until there was nothing but her memory and her son beside her. His mother was gone.

He was alone.

Leon Kennedy was now an orphan.

Sherry stood alone and watched the sirens swirl as it took them away.

He might be an orphan, but so long as she was alive...he would _never _be alone.

While he said goodbye to his mother, she was going to find out exactly what kind of man hired bikers in a bar to play kidnappers. She was heading to McGuffreys to either ask for answers, or to start cracking skulls for them. Maybe she couldn't save his mother, but she could damn sure save her son.

* * *

_In the quiet darkness, the voice of reason was overtly loud, "...you're playing a dangerous game here."_

_Teeth flashed in a familiar smirk, "It would seem I've been playing that since conception."_

_With a note of confusion, the other voice wondered, "...why not just finish him off and take her?"_

_Laughter, low and meaningful, "Legends are born in blood, you fool. I'm not killing him, I'm saving him."_

_A soft gasp followed by, "...do you think driving him away from everything in his world will make him come to you?"_

_"...he'll come for me...to kill me or join me. The choice is his."_

_The quiet shimmered until, "...why do you care?"_

_The silence answered. It was thick and cloying. He sat in it, watching the flicker of a screen where death was black and white. He'd loved a woman once, like a man might, like a mortal might. He'd loved a woman and made a family._

_The family was a lie. The love was limited to thoughts and trembling dedication. The child meant nothing. The child had grown into a man worthy of attention._

_The child was his blood - driven, determined, strong and surviving. The child was one way a man created a legacy._

_All he needed was for that child to come **home**._


	10. Chapter 10

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part Two:**

**-Legacy-**

* * *

**Chapter 10: The Sins of the Father**

* * *

It was easy enough for Sherry to get answers out of the sloppy drunk patrons of the Irish pub where she found herself. She just channeled Leon and did what she thought he'd do - she got in the face of the first ugly son of a bitch who looked like he was hiding something. Roughing up one resistant biker put the fear of god in them - god?...no _girl_. That's what happened when a pretty face made people underestimate you.

She walked in small, feminine, and splattered in enough blood to raise eyebrows. The first biker whistled and made a remark about soaking her in some more bodily fluids if she was looking for a good time. She smiled slyly, moved toward him, and waited for it. Sure enough, the guy mouthed off, tried to grab her ass, and ended up face down on the pool table with a cue aimed at his ass. Sherry grilled him for intel as she informed him she wasn't just a pretty face, and the next time he put his hands on a girl like that, she'd be back to give him the fucking he was asking for.

After that, they just started blabbering non stop. They didn't bother to lie. They told about a man, an ugly man in a bad hat with a scarred face. They talked about his taking the local motorcycle club aside to proposition them.

He made it sound so easy. Kidnap and keep those women in place for awhile. It was just a way to make a couple thousand dollars without much effort. Afterward, they could have the property and the women to do with what they saw fit. Easy. Cake.

A simple plan.

They should have never said yes. Clearly, they had no idea whose house they were invading. But maybe that was the point all along. Maybe he'd wanted incompetent fools to do the dirty work. Maybe he'd made it obvious for a reason.

She tipped the waitress who gave her names on the dead men. She talked to the owner about the man who'd come in and he was nice enough to copy the video footage from the security camera. She had enough to start looking.

She wondered if she'd find the real man behind the goon he'd sent to scout out poorly trained help.

Either way, she had something to give Leon to offer a little shred of hope.

As she emerged from the bar to head to the cab she'd called, a voice informed her, "...you better be real careful how hard you start digging, girl."

She turned toward the shadows to find a gnarled looking mess of a man hunched in the darkness. She didn't approach, she just tilted her head at him, "...should I?"

The man nodded, looking nervous and scared. He reminded her of Quasimodo or something in the _Hunchback of Notre Dame. _He was scarred, his face like melted wax, above a twisted mouth and a cruelly humped back. He warned, voice low, "They'll take a pretty thing like you and make you...sorry..._real _sorry."

Sherry smiled softly, "...thank you for your concern, but I can handle myself, I promise you."

The man wiggled like a child trying to avoid peeing themselves, "...I thought that too. I did...I wasn't always a monster...at one time...I was just a guy who survived a dying city."

Sherry froze. She started to approach him with a surprised, "You survived Raccoo-"

"-no!" He backed up, shaking his head and stumbling on his gnarled legs, "No, I didn't! I didn't! You didn't hear anything! You don't know anything! Come any closer and I-I'll scream!"

Sherry paused. She lifted her hands to show herself unarmed, "...ok. I won't. I'm sorry. Tell me what you know, please."

The man shook his head, he backed up further, "I can't tell you anything...I can only tell you that he's not the only one. He's not even the worst one...there's more than one monster waiting in the dark, little girl. Be careful who you trust."

He scurried away, sloping into a knobbly run. Sherry frowned, watching him go. What did that mean?

There were more mysteries than time to track them all.

She had to get back to Leon.

* * *

Leon didn't let them treat him. He let them take her body for an autopsy. He stood in the cold morgue and watched them seal her away.

He didn't let them touch him.

He wasn't ready. He wasn't there yet. He had to find what she'd left him. It mattered. It mattered enough she'd died trying to tell him. So, he left that hospital still cloaked in failure to try to find the answers.

He perched on the foot of her bed with photographs scattered over the beautiful old comforter she'd knitted herself when he was young. It was still the yellow of a good summer sun - bright and beautiful against the pale walls behind it. It smelled like her.

Sherry leaned on the doorjamb watching him. She'd known he'd come back here. It was the only place he'd know to go. Without a safe haven, he was lost in the woods. Here, at least, he could grieve and try to find answers.

He needed to get his wound treated, Sherry knew that. Leon knew it too. The hemostat had slowed the bleeding, but the bullet was still in him. He needed it removed. He needed to leave this house and go get help.

He was sticky and tacky with dried blood. His neck and the side of his face was swathed in it. His hands were coated from nails to knuckles and wrists. His arms were stained red to the bottom of the sleeves of his soaked shirt. His mother's blood and his own, mingled on his flesh in a way that was somehow poetic.

He'd speared his hands through his iconic hair at some point and created a crunchy mess. It looked liked someone had taken a bucket of blood and thrown it in his face to let it dry that way. The photograph in his hand was one of Vera young. She was beautiful - from the flaxen hair to the fabulous blue of her eyes. It was clear she'd passed on that wonderful chin to her son as well as her smile.

Sherry waited and let him do what he needed - talk.

"...I figured Kate...I figured maybe I was bad luck when we lost her, ya know?" He stroked a finger on the photo and his mouth twisted as his eyes teared, "They just kept telling me I was blessed. Blessed...I lived...so I was just..._blessed."_

He spat it and his sneer made her heartache. "...blessed..." He shook his head and laughed harshly, "It should have been _me _who died that day. You know why? If it had been me, Katie would have gone on to be a goddamn astronaut or something. She'd have been a teacher or a taken a goddamn job as an accountant...she wouldn't have become the reason my mother is gonna join her in the mother fucking ground."

Sherry said nothing as he finished, voice laced with hatred, "...I'm the reason she's _dead." _He hunched around the photo, hurting from soul to sternum. He said it again, in case she was deaf, and shouted it slightly, "...I'm the reason she's dead!"

Sherry met his gaze levelly as he turned it toward her now, seeking something in her face. He didn't find it, because he demanded, "Right?! We're both thinking it. We're both aware. She's dead because of me. I wasn't good enough or fast enough or..." He trailed off and crumbled the photograph in his palm, "...they killed her because of me...and I couldn't even get here in time to save her."

Without a word, Sherry stepped away from the door jamb. She reached down and opened his clenched palm to remove the photograph of his mother. He let her, shaking on the bed where he huddled in misery and despair. She smoothed out the crumpled Polaroid and told him, quietly, "...you look like her."

Leon made a small sound of mourning. He put his elbows on his knees and his hands on his face with his fingers twisting into his filthy hair. The muffled sound of his grief made Sherry close her eyes against the urge to fall apart. "...how do I do this?"

She laid the photograph beside his hip. Her hands gently laid atop the crown of his head and she instructed, "...you just do it. There's no magic words for it, no way to forget it or make it go away...you can't fight it or hide from it...you just...die with her..."

He made a sharp sound of loss and she added, "...and then you deal with it."

It was the hardest thing she'd ever said to him. The tone of her voice was somehow strong, somehow hard, somehow soft and supportive and loving. It was the perfect tone for a man like Leon Kennedy. He responded, nodding into his hands. She watched his resolve gather as if he were picking up blocks to build a wall that had somehow come crashing down.

He lowered his hands and looked up at her. Sherry nodded and urged, "You can't bring her back...but you can avenge her. So tonight...tonight you mourn her, and tomorrow...you make every last one of them pay."

He nodded, watching her face as his grief knit around the resolve that came with a purpose. It was purpose that pushed him. It was purpose that propelled him forward. Vera had asked Sherry to make sure he knew when he'd gone too far. He wasn't there. He wasn't even close. He could do this. He could grieve his mother and make sure justice was served cold, continuously, and as many times as possible.

That's what he did.

It was who he was.

He was the guy who got vengeance for the fallen -Her guardian angel, all her life, when she'd had no one else in the world. Now she was his. If she had to carry him, if she had to pick him up on her back and drag him, she'd get him there. She'd get them _both _there.

No more prisoners. No more slaves. No more captives in a game where the rules just kept changing. The rules were rotting in the ground beside Vera Kennedy.

It was time to make their own rules. It was time to protect the only man in the world who'd never given up on her. It was time for her to be the hero and find a way to make sure Vera got the justice she deserved.

Sherry just didn't know if she was willing to risk her son to do it.

A terrifying risk. How did she take it without him?

And was there any way to keep him safe?

He was covered in his mother's blood. He was covered in cold fury. He was covered in determination.

It was time to figure out how much she'd risk to help him.

The second she'd roused him to fight, she'd started to panic. He'd die. He'd die in the ground like his mother. He'd die and rot and turn to bones and bitter regret. She was _wrong. _She was so wrong.

She needed to save him, not support him. What the hell was wrong with her!?

He turned her hand over and kissed her wrist and her heart just...stopped. His voice was gruff with grief and pain, "...thank you. I just...I need a m-"

She gathered his head to her belly. His forehead bumped her there and his hands landed on her hips. He held on while the fine trembling started in his back and shoulders. He didn't weep. He should, he _needed to_, but he didn't.

He just held on.

Sherry wanted to beg him to go home, go hide, go run and forget what she'd said before. She would never forgive herself if she'd stood there while he bled to death on the ground. Mortal. Soft. Human.

Human.

She kept forgetting that he was just a man in a very, very fragile shell.

How did she save him?

She couldn't.

So, she just did what he did, she just trembled...and kept holding on.

* * *

The heavy knock on his door had Leon opening it with a gun in one hand and a grimace. Sherry stood in the rain in a beige trench coat with a paper bag. She frowned at him softly.

He was shirtless, the heavy bandage at his middle indicative of the gut shot he'd taken and had removed. He stared at her and finally stood back to let her in, laying the gun in his palm on the table beside the files that were scattered and all over the surface. She knew he was searching for the who's and the why's. She knew, like a bloodhound,, he wouldn't stop until he found out who was behind his mother's murder.

She closed the apartment door behind her and set the bag down, tugging a bottle whiskey from the crinkly sack. His sigh of pleasure made her smile a little as he proclaimed, "...you are a _goddess."_

She smiled gently and went to his kitchen to get two glasses.

He was flipping through witness statements when she poured him three fingers and offered it to him. He threw it back and she refilled it as he tilted his gaze up and praised, "...thank you. I know-I'm sorry about earlier."

He was sorry for falling apart in the field. He was sorry for falling apart with his mother lying dead beneath him. He was sorry for the pain it caused _her, _for him to lose his mother.

She shook her head and turned away.

Leon ran a tired hand through his wet hair. He'd barely sat still since he'd left the hospital. He'd been tracking down the number on the phone left by the dead kidnapper. He was relatively certain it was a Raccoon City number.

Claire had phoned to tell them Chris was alive and unhurt. He'd killed six men trying to break in and murder him. He was still digging himself into the why's and where for's. No one had any answers at this point.

It was nearly one in the morning. He looked haggard and pale and tired. She knew he was being driven on now by revenge and sheer adrenaline. He couldn't stop, if he did, he'd grieve. And Sherry knew he feared the grieving more than the rage.

The grief would leave him raw and exposed.

He needed to cry and mourn his mother.

He was too busy focusing on finding the man responsible for her death.

Leon threw back another glass of whiskey and hissed with appreciation. He licked his teeth and mused aloud, while the television in his den droned uselessly, "...why me?"

Sherry glanced over from where she stood looking out into the world from his beautiful window along the wall in his kitchen. She narrowed her gaze at him. "...what do you mean?"

"...I mean...it was you they wanted...why go through me? Why not just take me out and take you?"

She hung her trench coat on the rack by his door and moved toward him in jeans and a pink t-shirt. "Maybe killing you was a secondary bonus. Maybe it was about getting me..._and _killing you, Claire, and Chris. Who would have a grudge against all three of you like that?"

Leon paused. His barefoot stopped tapping in thought on the chair in front of him. He stopped with his drink halfway to his mouth and his gaze lit on her, "...the same man who would benefit from having you in his hands."

She looked confused until it dawned on her. Then she gasped softly, "...Wesker...he was testing you. He had to be testing you. He's still alive."

"Exactly. No body right? The son of a bitch could teleport like some kind of fucking hologram...he's not dead. He's just...pissed." Leon rose and moved toward the bedroom. Sherry followed him as he urged, "I need to get you back to the compound. You'll be safe there. Insulated. Protected. If he can get to my mother, whose address was buried under countless layers of security clearance, he can get to you anywhere else in the world. Simmons will make sure you're safe."

Sherry felt a tug of anger, "...no. I won't go back there."

Leon opened the duffel-bag he'd grabbed and started stuffing clothes into it. He waved her objection away and remarked, "I can't protect you out in the open like this, Sherry. I'm gonna hit one of my safe houses and lay low while I scout for where that stupid bastard is hiding. I need you some place where he can't hurt you."

Afraid of what happened to him if she wasn't around to protect him, she confessed, "...Derek will hurt me if I go back there."

He froze. He turned his gaze from the closet where he was gathering socks. His brow knitted, "...what did you say?"

She nodded. She stepped into the bedroom and gushed, "...yeah. Yeah. How do you think I knew how much damage I could take? If you send me back there, Derek will...he'll make it worse. He'll get your report on what happened in the field here...and he'll test my limits even further. I can't go back there. I _won't. _Take me with you...please. I can help. I won't get in your way. I won't make a peep. I'll be good. I can't-I can't. The...shock rods and the knives...the fire...god...I can't do the fire anymore, Leon. I can't." She panicked at the utter emptiness on him, urging, "I shouldn't have let it go on so long, but I didn't want you to think it was your fault! It wasn't! It's me! I just...I'm a freak, ya know? I'm a monster. He wanted to see what his pet monster could do. Had to see what he paid for, right? I'm not asking you to watch me or anything. I can handle that. I won't be a burden. I won't..."

He started toward her and her eyes filled with tears as she panicked, thinking he'd send her back, "...I promise! I promise...I won't-I _can't..." _Her voice broke as the tears spilled down her cheeks and she begged, "...don't make me go back..please? I can't ta-"

Leon shook his head. He stepped into her and cupped the back of her neck. She collapsed against his bare chest as he held her, wincing as she touched his injured side. "...stop. Stop." He urged gruffly, "You won't ever go back there..._not ever. _I promise."

His tone was laced with anger as he demanded, "Why didn't you make them stop? My god Sherry, I've seen what you can do..."

Her quiet crying broke his goddamn heart, "...they said they'd kill you. They said they'd torture you instead. They said they'd-"

He shook his head. His eyes welled up with the pain that ate around his chest and made him struggle with too much at once. He mouth kissed into her hair as he shook his head again, "..._shhh. _It's alright. It's ok...It's ok now."

It wasn't.

The people on his side weren't on his side after all. They'd been torturing her all along. They'd promised to care for her. They'd gotten his obedience and hers with an age old trick of playing them against each other. Blackmail, it seemed, never got old to those in power.

He'd failed her. He'd left her to become the thing he'd spent his life trying to protect her from. Liars. Fools. Bastards. They'd all turned on him, turned against him, and taken her down because she'd dared to survive her own father's disgusting bid for immortality. She was a test subject, and he'd traded away his freedom to make sure that didn't happen.

What fools they both were. The time to trust anyone but each other was _over. _

Into her neck, he avowed, "...I'm done playing their golem."

Sherry squeezed him, making a small sound of fear. "...don't. Please...if you go there-if you try to get revenge or something...they'll kill you. We can just - we have to stop them another way. We have to stop it all. Manuela is still there...they will kill her if they know you're coming. Just-you have to wait. Just wait...please...just..."

He closed his eyes, praying for patience. His world was in upheaval. He had nothing steady anymore but this girl in his arms. He was spiraling into a depression that was bound to sweep them both down and drown them. He had to hold it together for her, for Vera, for the truth. He needed this girl in his arms to believe in him...it was the only thing left in the world that made sense.

He needed to revenge her and his mother. He needed to see evil pay the price for what it had tone to them, to them all. He needed good to prevail. Just this one time. So he could believe in it when there was nothing in front of him but an almost desperate emptiness.

He would avenge them _all._

They both held on until her breathing leveled off into quiet desperation. His hands cupped her face to turn it up to him and his thumbs swept her cheeks and the tears, "...together then. That's how we do this...together."

Sherry nodded, eyes leaking. Leon glanced at her mouth and back at her eyes. She stayed as she was, unwilling to push at him now when the grief and loss of his mother was all fresh and forefront. She didn't want him to take her to bed and regret it.

He had the impulse to kiss her and make them both forget. If he buried himself inside of her, would he find that strength she carried and finally be able to protect her? Or would they simply drown together in the misery that he speared between her legs like poison?

She looked at him like a deer in the headlights, just waiting. He knew, whatever choice he made now, could haunt them both forever. So, he promised, "...first my mother...then us."

Sherry blinked, her throat working as she she confirmed, "...first Vera..then us."

"...everything he did to you...I'm gonna make sure comes back on him tenfold."

Her hands curled into his shirt. The both knew this was the worst possible time for anything more than grieving. She wanted to lean up and kiss him. Maybe she was wrong here, maybe if he touched her...he'd finally get some peace. Maybe love was how you healed all the pain in this room.

So, she told him softly, "...I _love _you."

He absorbed that with a softness that was almost around them in a hug as he answered, "...I love you too, kid."

Not exactly what she wanted, but it was something. She had no doubt he'd spend the rest of his life seeking vengeance for her and his mother and himself. She'd be right there beside him the whole way.

This was how they did it, he'd said, _together._

She stood still until he let her go and she could cover her face with her hands for a moment.

He told her, gently, "...I'm sorry for everything. If I could go back-"

Sherry's voice was cool as she cut him off, "I would _never _go back. I don't regret keeping you out of it. I can't. I won't ever. Don't you blame yourself for what happened to me. Promise me that."

He said nothing.

She knew he'd blame himself. She knew he'd never promise her something he didn't mean. So he simply said, "I'll promise you this...I'm gonna make them pay."

She had no doubt about that.

She heard him leave the room. When he was gone, Sherry ran her hands through her hair and turned toward the things gathered on his bed. She touched the delicate edge of one of his wonderfully expensive silk shirts in some kind of color that was blue and purple at the same time. She brushed her fingers over his mother's old bible that he'd taken from her nightstand after the emergency workers had taken her body. Vera had asked for it before she'd died.

He'd been so busy with the hospital and the coroner and the cops he'd yet to open it. She was a righteous woman, his mother, and the truth of her courage and convictions was something she'd wanted him to keep after she was gone. Was she trying to pass her faith onto him?

Sherry's fingers ruffled it gently and found a dog earred section that made her frown. Sherry opened the yellowed pages, seeing where Vera had highlighted some of her favorite passages. **Matthew 26:28** \- _This is the blood of the covenant which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins._

Sherry picked up the photo tucked and folded in the heavy crease beside the highlighted passage. She unfolded the old photo and caught a glimpse of the back as she did - _Leon and Daddy -1978. _Sherry frowned and finished unfolding the photo.

Her free hand flew to cover the gasp that burst from her lungs.

It was Leon - a beautiful tow headed baby with big blue eyes. Gorgeous even so small and fat. Gorgeous like his father. She could see, in that horrible moment, the family resemblance. She could see the evidence of a father carved in the face of the son.

The sins of the father.

Leon's had almost as many as hers.

He stepped into the bedroom and stopped, head tilted, "What is it?"

Sherry lifted her head, she whispered, "...I found...I found a photo of your father in-in your mother's...in..." She lost her voice and simply shook her head.

"...what is it?" He sounded a little amused, "...he look like a troll or something?"

She turned the photo.

It was worse.

It was so much worse.

He didn't look like a troll...he looked like a _monster._

The truth of who he was and why he was and how he was was written all over his father's face.

The same face he'd shot between the eyes less than two weeks before.

The face of the enemy.

The face of Albert Wesker.

He wasn't an orphan, he was the son of the devil himself.

She watched the panic shoot across his slack expression. She eyed the denial, the rage, the fear, and the horrible, horrible acceptance. She knew it all. She'd faced it herself finding out who her father was.

Leon shook his head and simply stated, "...no."

He left the bedroom.

Sherry followed him, clutching the photograph in her hand. She offered it to him and he shoved her hand away like she'd offered him a crack pipe or something. The disgust on him was palpable. "...burn it."

"...Leon..." Her voice was soothing.

He didn't want soothing. He felt like someone had ripped his skeleton out of his body like some horrible _Mortal Kombat _finishing move. He wanted to rip out his DNA at this point and see if he could survive the fatality. "I said get rid of it, Sherry. Burn it, boil it, throw it in the fucking toilet...I don't care what you do with it, but I want it gone. Get rid of the goddamn thing. Do you understand me?"

Sherry nodded. She turned and disappeared into the kitchen area. She turned on the garbage disposal and the water and lowered the photograph toward it. Before she could finish the job, he grabbed her wrist and jerked her arm away with a curse.

It was harsh and unlike him. He was so angry. She could feel it emanating off him in waves, like every inhale and exhale put more rage into the air around them both. He grabbed the photograph and kept her wrist in his other hand as he spat, "This is what I am.._this." _He looked so broken. "...I came from a monster. I'm controlled by them. I'm surrounded by them. What keeps me from becoming one!?"

He seemed so desperate for an answer. She wanted to give him one that would rile him up for the fight. She wanted to tell him it didn't matter what you came from, but it did. It mattered. Who knew that better than her?

So, she'd give him the truth, and hope to god he was strong enough to take it head on and survive - just like the girl who'd lost everything in a dying city.

Sherry nodded. She used her free hand to slap over the picture in his and crush it behind their palms as she commiserated, "...the child of a monster...it's not something you curse away or drink away or hide from. It's just part of what made you...it doesn't have to define who you are. That's _your _choice, Leon. It's always been yours. Maybe you're surrounded by monsters, but you're still there fighting like hell to stop them."

His jaw flexed. Sherry nodded at him. "Yeah...you're still you. Don't let this change you. Let it fuel you...god knows there's nothing worse than knowing you come from scum...I've survived it this long. It gets easier. My father is dead...I can't kill him for what he's done to me...but _you can. _So focus on that...and let's finish him."

They held eyes. He bobbed his head in a nod. She did too.

She wanted to cross the distance and kiss him. She didn't want to be one more thing he'd regret.

So they just stood there with the crumpled photo of a madman on the floor between them and the memory of monster hanging like a shadow above them both.

Sherry watched him gather his resolve. She could almost _see _it filling his body like he was swallowing a storm.

Vera had given him a bible. She had no idea what kind of holy trinity he was. He was two parts to Wesker's one.

Aloud, he intoned, "Father, Son...and Holy _fucking _ghost."

Sherry nodded, heart thumping in her breast and answered, "...first Vera...then _us."_

A solemn vow of revenge.

He'd kill anyone who stood between him and the man who'd ruined all their lives. Maybe the father seemed immortal but he was about to find out that it was the one damn trait he'd managed to pass down. Leon knew he would never stop until he scorched the Earth to make every last person responsible pay.

* * *

They buried her on the land she loved so much.

The early evening light was pink and gold, turning purple and blue at the place where horizon met the heavens. It was beneath the tree where his sister had died. It was quiet, just a handful of people who'd loved her enough to still be in her life. Him, Sherry, the few neighbors she'd known, and a man named Clint who Leon suspected had been her lover for years.

Clint stood beside him as the light died on the pretty pink sky and mused, "...she was so proud of you."

Leon nodded, jaw flexing. He had the start of a wicked five o'clock shadow on his perfect face. Sherry stood behind and to the left at a respectful distance as she listened. Clint went on to add, "She knew you were out there...just saving lives."

Leon nodded again, eyes shiny grief and flickering with fury. At whom? Himself? The world? The whole of it, surely.

Clint patted his shoulder, sniffling, "...I'm glad it was peaceful. She was so afraid the end would hurt, you know? I'm glad she was sleeping."

The was the official story anyway. She'd died in her bed, sleeping, as the cancer had finally taken over and left her body behind. Her spirit was free, soaring through the skies to the great beyond. She was at peace.

The war inside her son was just beginning.

He crouched as Clint made his way to his vehicle to leave down the main road. Leon took a handful of freshly dug earth from beside the hole where his mother's casket lay. He gripped it tight and spoke into the brisk wind. He said nothing as he closed his eyes and the sun set on his profile.

His hand moved over the hole and opened.

The dirt fell to the top of her casket.

The promise of it carried toward the horizon as if he'd shouted it toward the heavens where his mother had finally gone to rest. It wasn't the last casket he'd see in the ground before he was done. He'd bury bodies until there was one for every person who'd died in Raccoon City.

He wouldn't stop until he was an orphan.

And his father was in the ground beside the woman he'd left behind.

* * *

**A/N:** _Originally, I kicked around an idea drawn off the fabulous thought evolution-500 had about Rebecca's photo in Wesker's desk being a sign that she was his daughter -See his story **Heir to Throne**. I liked it. I still do. I may even leverage that into a full blown short story if I can find the right angle. _

_Then, at 2 a.m., this totally unlikely twist got me out of bed to write it. I had to get it down. This was, it's not just one child of a madman, it's two. Lots of fan theories have had Sherry as Wesker's daughter, but I decided to queer the timeline a little and make it everybody's favorite poorly punning agent instead. It's either story line gold, or it's utter crack theory - either way, it's fun. I never resist the muses when they yank me out of bed at the witching hour. To soothe the ire over Claire's interest in this story, I promise she's still a hero. She'll have her moment of redemption. ;)_


	11. Chapter 11

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part Two:**

**-Legacy-**

* * *

**Chapter 11: Conspiracy**

* * *

The butterfly always finds it's way to the flame.

This was no exception.

Albert Wesker had always been a flame - no matter what he touched, he burned it to the ground and left smoldering ashes behind.

Apparently, he was about to do the same to her.

The spy and the most wanted man in bioterror sat across from each other in the swirling smoke of the bar. The tap of one red heel on the rung of the stool was telling. The tone of voice was the same, "...he turned me down."

The heavy line of his brows arched at her nearly taunting remark. The studying blue eyes judged, "...perhaps I under estimated your ability to sell yourself. What kind of whore doesn't know how to market her goods?"

Ada's lips pursed inward, "...he's not for sale. He's no mercenary. He never was. I thought-but no. He wasn't ever going to lean that way. I tried to convince him to join me...and your little raid on his mother's house made damn sure that didn't happen."

The laugh was mocking, "Me? Turn that gaze toward the White House, Ms. Wong. Why would I want him dead?"

"...because dead is better than against you."

They shared a judging look.

Finally, the man across from her mused, "If you can't recruit him, you're of no more use to me. Convince me why I shouldn't kill you right now."

Her head tilted, "Here? In the middle of a crowded bar?"

His mouth twitched, "...clever as you think you are, you aren't impervious. Be careful what games you play in the next few days. You failed me once before. This is strike two. Sadly for you, there won't be a third."

Ada's mouth turned up on a sly smile, "Threats?"

"Promises. If you can't seduce him, you're wasting his time. If you even think to whisper in his ear about things, remember who you're crossing. I know where you move and breathe, Ms. Wong. I can make it so you never do either again."

A threat then.

Ada studied the face across from her. She knew it was a mistake to challenge him. She knew it wouldn't end well. She'd tried to get Leon to jump camps and join her side. She'd really thought he'd do it too, but it turned out? Boy scout in his bones. He was a hero. He was the good guy. She'd known that in Raccoon.

Somehow, he'd held onto that altruistic heart through everything. He still believed that good would triumph. He just didn't know anymore who the good guys were. She knew she was now on borrowed time to protect him here.

One way or the other, someone was going to take him out.

The question was whether or not she'd survive to see it happen.

She hedged her bets, and went with her gut, "Don't be surprised if you're the one who underestimates his opponents here, Albert. I'm not just a pretty face."

His teeth flashed in a grin, "Consider this your severance, Ms. Wong. You have twenty four hours to run, hide, and never show your face again. After that, I'm going to show you the might of a man with nothing to lose."

Ada rose from the table. She winked as she turned on her heels and crossed the overly populated bar. He wouldn't even give her that day. She knew she was officially on the run here.

She needed an ally. She wasn't a woman who had many. She did, however, have pawns. She needed to play them to save herself. She was willing to play a few more to save Leon. After all, he'd done the same for her more than once.

Maybe it was time to play the other side of her ugly triumvirate with Wesker. After, she'd been playing sides against each other for years. She opened her communicator and requested, "Block video."

The line rang as she hurried into the rain in her heavy trench coat. It was answered by a gruff and shaking tone, "...what have you done?"

And, just like that, Ada knew Wesker had burned that last bridge she had to safety. She spoke with feeling, "...don't make a mistake here, Derek."

The betrayal in his tone was pungent as if she could smell his need for revenge, "...mistake? Yours was siding with a man against me. Yours was choosing another man over _me. _I'm going to make sure I give the last fucking you'll ever expect."

Ada slipped into the shadows of an alley and gave it one last shot, "You do this...I'm gonna make sure you go into the ground right beside him."

Simmons' laugh was angry and shivering, "Will you? Hard to do that in a body bag, you faithless bitch. I wonder how else I can take you down...after all...this is a nice set of photos I'm looking at...I wouldn't have thought Kennedy was your type, but I guess I can see the draw. Pretty, isn't he? How do you think he'd look without that goddamn head of his? Maybe I'll slice his face open and finish that fucking butt chin you seem to enjoy so much."

So, that was the kicker here. Not only had Wesker let him know they'd been working together, but he'd forwarded along pictures of her with Leon in their one steamy night together. She'd known, the moment they'd tumbled into that bed, it would have consequences. She'd known there was no way she'd get out of it without blood. She'd known, but she'd done it anyway. After all, who said no to a one night stand with a butt chin like that?

But Wesker had been watching.

Of course he had.

He was so damn good at what he did. He was likely aware of when Leon took a shit or when he was eating too much protein. He was a filthy snake in the bushes. You never knew he was there until he struck.

Their one night together was going to end up costing them both. She'd tried, after that, to sell him on the idea of joining her band of merry men. After all, wasn't it better to work for no one than for a corrupt White House?

But Leon, the goddamn hero, just wouldn't budge. He'd been convinced he was doing the right thing. He was convinced working for the government would save the damn Birkin girl and the other one he'd let Simmons hold for their own protection. He just wouldn't jump ship. He'd denied her while he was still inside of her.

It was unexpected. Ada had thought, surely, their romantic relationship would sway him. Turns out? He was a man with more integrity than she knew how to overcome. Fucking her or not, he wasn't going to sell himself off and risk Birkin and Hidalgo's future. Mr. Self Sacrifice right to the end.

So they'd fucked, and now they were both fucked.

She had to try to find him before Wesker or Simmons did. She had no clue who would get there first. She had no clue if he was dead where he stood from one end or the other. Would Simmons kill him for being her lover? Or just to teach her a lesson?

Would Wesker kill him for refusing him? Or would he attempt to recruit his own son with some kind of sob story about a long lost love he'd always harbored? He was as wily as he was sly. He'd sell Mother Theresa to sex traffickers if it suited his purpose.

She wasn't sure how to make any moves without going to ground herself.

So she'd wait and see how rocky the road got.

She had to track down whatever phone he was using first. She knew he'd ditched all his own lines. She had to find him first, before more than just his mother's body was buried on that land he loved so much.

She was praying like hell he was as good as he they said - one way or another...he was about to find out.

* * *

**USSTRATCOM CENTRAL DIVISION OF INTELLIGENCE**

* * *

Derek Simmons sat across the table from the tired countenance of Chris Redfield.

They shared the file between them as Redfield remarked, "I'm telling you...the men who tried to kill me...they made it pretty clear that they'd been tasked by a mole within the United States government."

Simmons drummed his fingers on the table, "...I'm inclined to agree. The parallel between what happened to you, the disappearance of the body of Albert Wesker, the raid on Agent Kennedy's mother's house...it's all too coincidental. The timing is poor. First...someone slips classified data to Kennedy and he goes _alone _on an unsanctioned mission with a freshly trained recruit to possibly infiltrate and acquire the greatest asset we've come across in the attempt to locate Albert Wesker. They find him _and _lose him to Wesker, according to their reports, only to presumably kill the former S.T.A.R.S. captain and conveniently lose his body. Your sister is simultaneously abducted, you and Jill Valentine attacked, and Kennedy's mother murdered. This all happens within a day."

Chris nodded, looking pensive, "...it's not the only thing."

Jill shifted beside him and spoke softly, "...Chris...it's just circumstantial. You don't know for sure."

Chris waved that away and remarked, "...when I dug through other pieces of information...I came upon some communications over a cloaked line between Frederic Downing and Kennedy during his time in Harvardville with Angela Miller as the go between. Witnesses place her at his hotel room shortly following the capture of Downing and now she's missing in action."

Simmons perked up, looking through narrowed eyes at the papers on the table. He shook his head and sighed, "...I'd started looking into Kennedy the second he brought back the Hidalgo girl. The timing...it was all circumspect. Jack Krauser dies or goes missing after they have a dispute. He, according to the Kennedy Report, changed loyalties - but was a known patriot. Hidalgo dies and leaves us with _nothing _for a secure operation that took months to plan. In Spain, Kennedy literally hands over a sample to a known spy claiming he had no choice...we now know it was _the same _spy from Raccoon City and his...apparently coincidental meeting of her there...he fails to kill her and she escapes with a sample of the G-Virus in her possession."

Redfield pursed his lips. Jill shook her head, murmuring, "...twice. He's let her get away _twice _with sensitive intel...I don't understand that."

Simmons laughed with a twinge of anger, "Don't you? The footprints are there. They've always been there. The two people who find Albert Wesker are the man who hands over samples to spies...and the daughter of the man who'd once been best friend's with a monster. The two men responsible for the fall of Raccoon...unless it was three."

Redfield froze, head tilted, "...you suggesting Leon Kennedy is a traitor?"

"...I'm suggesting the fox is almost always in the hen house. Your sister almost died because of him, Captain. I think it's time we start looking into how exactly Leon Kennedy _always _survives. He must have one _hell _of a guardian angel on his side."

Jill shook her head, unable to argue, unwilling to believe.

Chris' jaw clenched as he added, "...unless he'd already made a goddamn deal with the devil."

It was the first time they all began to suspect that Kennedy had been working with Albert Wesker all along.

It was Jill that piped up in his defense, "Wait a minute here...just a minute...we're saying what? That Kennedy has been playing double agent all this time? That he got himself recruited after Raccoon to what...spy inside the government? He was a _boy. _Just a kid. Like me then...or _you."_

Chris tapped his fingers on the file before him. He looked unsure. He looked a little shaken. She knew, they both knew, that he wasn't a man who condemned another without merit. He was grateful to Kennedy for Raccoon City and Claire's survival.

He was having a hard time seeing him as a traitor. She was too. She'd sat across from Leon Kennedy. She'd shared coffee with him and laughed at bad jokes. They were friendly. She had a good radar after all these years for duplicity. She wasn't sure why her radar said he was innocent, but something in her guts screamed _witch hunt. _

She wanted to be wrong. She knew he wanted to be wrong. What if they weren't?

Simmons remarked, quietly, "...getting rid of the only person who'd survived Raccoon with him and her brother makes sense. Maybe she saw something that could turn the tide here. Maybe she knows more than she thinks she does. Maybe killing her when we had just started to find out his secrets in a raid where his own mother dies...maybe that's how Leon Kennedy covers his tracks."

It sounded so bad when he said it out loud like that. It sounded like Leon had murdered his own mother and tried to kill Claire as a way to protect himself. That was stupid, wasn't it?

He'd saved Claire. She'd run to Chris' side because he'd taken a bullet to save her. Why try to kill her and then ultimately spare her life?

It was Simmons that answered that rambling thought too, "...an easy way to earn loyalty, isn't it? Saving someone..._twice_."

Chris licked his teeth. Claire was his trigger, she always had been. If he even thought Kennedy was using her in some kind of personal bid for power, he'd punch a Leon sized hole through the wall and leave his corpse to rot there. Kennedy working with Wong. Kennedy working with Downing. Kennedy working...with Wesker?

Simmons finished, "...interesting, isn't it? He was told to stay away from Raccoon...and yet he just kept on driving into that city anyway. Who was waiting for him there? No one...or maybe...he was there to make sure someone else got what she came for. He found your sister at that gas station..he could have saved her and left...and yet he drove them both into that nightmare. Who chases danger like that? Claire did it...for you. But why did he? Why? He protected the Birkin girl by enlisting...but what if he was _paid _to do that all along?"

It looked bad. Jill still wanted to be wrong here. She wanted it to be wrong. Carlos had been U.B.C.S. He'd been _bad guy_ really himself...and he's saved her life. Kennedy...he was just a kid who'd wanted to help people.

Right?

_Right?_

It was Chris who spoke into the tense silence, "So maybe we see if he's as good as he thinks he is. Wesker's been hiding like a coward for years. Let's see if his protege is good enough to stay hidden from the entire might of the United States government."

Jill sat quietly with her fist clenched beside her thigh. She wasn't sure why, but part of her knew she needed to call Claire. If there was anyone on Earth that would be interested in finding the truth, it would be the redhead who'd survived the longest night of her life beside a boy who'd been a rookie...a rookie with a dirty agenda? Or just a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time?

What if someone was tossing Kennedy like a red herring at them so they'd stop looking for Wesker?

Chris was too blinded by revenge to see anything but the path from A to B, but she'd studied under Wesker directly at the R.P.D...she knew he was as devious as he was brilliant. If he wanted them looking for Kennedy so they'd eliminate him and clear the way for Wesker's plans, this was the best way to do it. He'd been puppeting Chris his entire career.

She needed someone on the other side to dig too. She couldn't do it without Chris thinking she was traitor...but Claire could. And if Kennedy was dirty? They'd all take him down together. He might be the best in the business, but he was still just one man.

How long could one man stay hidden?

In less than eight hours, the entire world would be hunting Leon Kennedy.

* * *

**Dead Horse, Arakansas**

* * *

Sherry came awake with a hand over her mouth and another groping for her panties. She gasped, struggling, as a voice commanded, "Shut up, bitch, or I'll gut you."

With what? He had a hand over her mouth and one trying to get into her pants. Where was the knife? It didn't matter. He clearly didn't know who he was trying to rape. Sherry grabbed for his face, stuck her thumbs over his eyes, and just...pressed. His scream was high and loud as she blinded him. She felt the knife he spoke of jam into her side and kept on squeezing.

His skull made a sound like a cracking egg and a voice commanded, "...toss him."

Leon.

She tossed the screaming man as if he'd spoken into her ear.

The body went up and out, it hit the far wall and kept on going, throwing the dying man into sheet rock and using him like a canon blasting a wall down for an invasion. The flash of the muzzle of Leon's gun lit the dark as the first lump of shadows went down and black blood sprayed the wall behind him. The second got shot through the throat and tried to retreat.

When another muzzle appeared behind that one, Sherry simply grabbed the lamp beside her and threw it. It winged, whacked the man in the face, and Leon shot him through the eye the gas mask he was wearing to send him to the floor atop his dead comrades. The gas mask wasn't good. It couldn't be good.

She found out why the second the teargas hit the floor beside the bed.

This time, somebody knew what she was and was trying to take her down. Not kill her, apparently, but take her down. She dove, tackled Leon, and spilled them into the bathroom while her foot kicked the door shut and he grabbed for a towel to stuff it against the crack on the bottom of the door. He reloaded while Sherry climbed on the toilet and busted out the window over it.

Voice gruff, he demanded, "What's the plan?"

Without missing a beat, she returned, "Stay low, head west toward the tree line and take the repel line down to the outcropping. From there, find cover until you give the all clear."

He nodded, "Good. Go."

She went through the window without looking back.

She wanted to stay and defend him, but she'd promised. She obeyed, rolling through the fall like a pro and hurrying toward the treeline. When she saw a man circle around toward the window where Leon would be emerging, Sherry picked up a rock and hurled it. It hit him in the head, shattered his helmet, and caved in his skull. That was the good news about being a monster, sometimes it came in handy. Because of Leon, she was now a monster with dead aim.

Sherry hit the treeline as Leon hit the ground in his jeans and t-shirt, hurrying barefoot to the side of the cabin that wasn't caved in from her tossing of their first attacker. The team had obviously snuck in with the aid of a drone as the thing was circling back over the long road and would be on them soon enough. They didn't have time to beat a hasty retreat. He'd been so careful, leading them into the heavy Ozark mountains where he'd thought they'd be safe.

Someone knew his safe house locations? Who? Who had access to that kind of information? He was relatively sure he was the only man in the world who knew them. Someone was good enough at tracking to locate them in the middle of nowhere.

He needed to send them into steeper terrain. Even here, under natural cover from forest to freezing water, they weren't safe. What next? Was there anywhere they would be?

The second a man came around the corner, Leon kicked him in the knee and shot him in the side of the head as he fell. The next one made a lunge for cover and got shot in the back for it. As he rolled and scrambled, Leon shot him in the back of the head for the effort.

There was a tremble of movement near the road. Without hesitation, he turned, dropped to one knee, and put a clean shot through the first man over the rise. The second winged Leon on the left arm with a lucky shot and was dead a moment later, clutching his throat and tumbling to his back. The third man over the rise rolled a smoke grenade for cover. It went off and Leon shot the flicker of movement through the fog.

He shouted. He went down in a suggestion of death. There was a crunch of grass, Leon rolled, and the knife in the man's hand swished over where his head had been. Leon came up, caught the man at the wrist and elbow, and jerked. The swift snap of breaking bone was loud before the knife was reversed and jammed through his sternum.

The line of trees flickered, Leon rolled the body up like a shield, and it took the rapid pop of an assault rifle. He backed up, using the dead body to defend himself, and waited for the moment his opponent had to reload. Seizing it, Leon rolled his shoulder and took him out with a single shot through the acrid smoke.

Sherry huddled in her position, listening to the sounds of battle. Her heart knocked around in fear. She should have disobeyed. She should have stayed. He was going to die up th-

He landed beside her and tossed the severed repel line into the darkness beside the outcropping.

Without a word, he pressed her into the overhang and between the narrow crevice there. They went sideways, skimming through the narrow passage into the deeper part of the mountain. She couldn't do anything but be impressed with the network of caves he'd located beneath his safe house.

There was a reason he was a known as a genius. He was prepared for an invasion in a place that no one knew about. It was insanely worthy of a little hero worship.

He told her, "When we reach the long cavern, what next?"

He was always quizzing her. She was in panties and a tank top, but she wasn't cold. Adrenaline tended to keep you warm. "Follow the sound of water to the edge of the falls. It'll bring us out on the east side of the forest. The main access road is equipped with an old Buick. Hot-wire it, and make for the highway."

Leon nodded as they reached the long cavern, "What else?"

"...fake identification is strapped under the front seat with cash. If we get separated, I'm to take the car and head toward Boulder. You'll meet me at Crazy Carl's in Wombat Junction. If you don't show up within four hours, I'm to move on to the safe house in Wyoming."

He nodded again and gruffed, "Good. Good...good." The third good was softer.

She glanced back at his face and soothed, "...it's gonna be ok. I won't let anything happen to you."

Jesus. She just-he could barely stand the way she made him feel sometimes. Like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. As they moved, he told her, "...ditto, kiddo. Let's get the hell outta here. I'm starting to get really fucking sick of running away all the time."

Sherry nodded as they edged further into the dark. How long could they run before they finally lost their way? She was afraid the second they stopped running, he'd make a brave last stand and die like a hero.

Terror for his life pushed her toward an unknown future, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered anymore. She could take anything they threw at them...as long as he was always right behind her.

* * *

**From a payphone in the middle of nowhere**

* * *

_"...I don't think they have long."_

_The sound of crackling signaled a bad connection. The soft and urgent voice of the first was met by the scared tone of the other, "...he's my **brother."**_

_Apology flickered as the first returned, "...I know that. I know...but what if he's_ **_wrong? _**_Can you live with yourself if you do nothing and he is?"_

_"...what if he never forgives me?" So scared. The second voice was so scared. There was nothing they both valued more than loyalty. They were testing every bond of it right now. They were both risking everything, on the chance the world was wrong._

_But what if __it wasn't? What if sometimes the things you heard whispered in the dark were true?_

_"If he's wrong, he'll _**_thank _**you for it."

_"...and if he's right?"_

_No answer. There didn't need to be one. They both knew what happened when you broke that trust. It just might be the end of a **family.**_


	12. Chapter 12

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part Two:**

**-Legacy-**

* * *

**Chapter 12: ****Excommunication**

* * *

**New York Public Library**

* * *

No matter how she dug, the evidence just kept mounting.

Claire leaned back in the chair, her face a mask of concern. Each thread she tugged on Leon unraveled another that had a murkier root. Top of his class at the Academy with a glowing recommendation for the finest police force in the country. He could have gone into the N.Y.P.D. and been S.W.A.T. inside of a year. He had his pick like the golden boy that everyone wanted.

He chose a force in the middle of nowhere. A small, shoddy, up and coming metropolis that was barely a blip on anyone's map. He'd chosen the R.P.D. He'd been told to stay away and shown up for duty anyway.

She couldn't figure out why he'd failed to take her out of town that night. She knew, she wouldn't have gone anyway...but he hadn't even tried to persuade her. Why? What was in Raccoon City that he wanted so badly to protect?

She tugged the thread of his childhood. Single mother. Sister - deceased. Freak accident as a child apparently. No evidence of a divorce on file. She dug deeper, looking at child hood friends, scouting through layers of his time in college. She clicked around his life after Raccoon, trying to find anything to tie him to Umbrella.

There was no red flags that screamed _TRAITOR _but there was nothing to vindicate him either.

He was, always, in the wrong place at the wrong time. From Spain to Harvardville to his mother's house...he was a magnet for trouble. Why? His history was mostly unremarkable. He wasn't anything more than a talented boy with incredible test scores and a photographic memory.

What reason could there be for trouble to find him no matter where he went?

She almost clicked away when something pulled her into Vital Records and had her digging around on his sister. Thinking maybe the little girl had been "taken out" instead of dying by accident, Claire clicked through birth certificates. Mother - Vera Kennedy.

Her mind flashed on the bravery of Leon's mother before they'd shot her like cowards to watch her die. Guilt seized around her throat as Claire scrolled down the old screen. Pretty girl - she had Leon's look around the eyes and mouth.

What was it about the sister that rang bells in her head?

Was it Vera's face?

Claire frowned and clicked further down to find Kate's father's name. Maybe the family on his side was the problem. Of course, if someone was nefariously posed as his father, wouldn't Leon have covered that up? He was a genius or something. He'd have buried documents to suit his purpose.

Was she digging for nothing here?

Her hand froze on the mouse. She covered her mouth with the other one. She felt the strangest sense of having separated from her body and her mind. The birth certificate was blank of the father.

But the hospital records listed the city of her birth - Raccoon. She was born at Raccoon General. Was Leon? It wasn't exactly a smoking gun, but it meant someone in Raccoon City was likely Leon's father. Someone working for Umbrella?

She clicked around some more digging through hospital records from the day of his birth. Birkin? Could it have been William Birkin? Was Leon Sherry's brother!?

The coincidence was too much there. It was too horrible to think it. Was that why they were so close?

How old was William Birkin when Leon would have been born!?

She felt the first edges of something scary as she just kept on looking for answers.

The beep of her phone signaled a message. Claire opened it and froze. Her heart stopped.

Not Birkin. It had _never _been Birkin. She had fled a dying city with the child of the man who'd started it all. She'd saved his life. She'd left Sherry in his care. He'd gone into that city not for his sister, but because his _father _wanted that sample.

Or maybe...maybe he'd been after that little girl all along.

It was no wonder he'd kept her away all these years. He didn't want to share his father's creation. He didn't want her anywhere near his bounty. He'd kept Claire alive to keep the world thinking he was a hero.

Apparently, he'd been the villain all along.

* * *

The crunch of boots in broken glass was loud. He'd fled with Birkin and left bodies in his wake. Apparently, Leon Kennedy was as good as they said. Some of the surviving men remarked that he was like a grim reaper.

One, clearly distraught, stated, "...a fucking ghost man. Just...out the dark and then gone again."

A phantom.

That was his nick name after all. The Ghost.

But he wasn't one. He was just a man. She needed proof he was a good one.

Jill was crouched over the rubble in the kitchen. She listened to the sounds of her men inspecting the rest of the ambush site. She sifted gloved fingers through the remains of a fire from the gas Kennedy had turned on and used like a grenade to implode most of what had been one of his safe houses.

It had burned most of the house to rubble, but not all of it. Not everything. Her fingers tugged up the burnt edges of a photograph. It was mostly singed on one side. It was old and faded and suffered from smoke damage.

But the face in the photograph was unmistakable.

Her eyes narrowed. She shook her head and flipped it over. It was always a shock to see him without sunglasses on after all.

Whatever she'd thought to find, she couldn't even begin to imagine the truth. The back of the photograph told her everything she needed to know. Chris wasn't wrong..._she _was. She was so wrong.

He'd fit his nick name soon enough because as of this moment? He was a dead man.

Chris' shadow appeared over her shoulder. Jill looked up at him in horror. His eyes settled on the picture and the anger turned his handsome face raw and pale with rage. He was about to make sure Leon Kennedy became the very thing whispered about in darkened corners. He was going to enjoy making him a ghost.

* * *

**No Name, Colorado**

* * *

The curl of cigarette smoke snaked up his nostrils and joined the air above his head in a silvery specter of death. He'd started smoking the same night he'd lost his mother. A mystery, Sherry thought, how a righteous man could fall so far. What had killed his mother was now inside of him.

That was true of the smoking as well as the genes.

He knew now, without even digging, who had murdered the last of his world.

Albert Wesker - his mortal enemy, his legacy, his father. The horror of it tasted like blood in his mouth. He'd stood frozen when the picture had settled over his brain and made a blanket of despair. Vera had fallen in love with a monster. Then, of course, he'd only been barely older than a boy. He'd likely strayed from his life in Raccoon to see what a real man might feel like with a woman and tater tots to love.

First Kate, then Leon - girl and boy, the cookie cutter equivalent of a the nuclear family. A man like Wesker would see the challenge of faking morality and convincing some woman that he was a suitable mate. He'd have lingered when it suited him, playing the role of wistful scientist to a wonderfully boring family. Vera had always been beautiful and he'd have seen the benefit of procreating with a beautiful partner.

The natural immunity made sense now.

The more he dug into the mystery of Project W - Project Wesker clearly- the more he discovered the truth. The eugenics project developed by Spencer was meant to make an advanced race of humans. It was through abduction and adoption that they found their subjects. Those who were selected were injected with the virus. Progenitor, the first of its kind, the strain made to be tolerable to human flesh. Those who didn't die outright, became terminally ill and began to degrade from infection.

Save for one. Just one. Just a single one.

Albert Wesker. Not just a man...a tyrant. He'd died in Raccoon City and risen again, something else, something worse, something unstoppable. The T-Virus wasn't flowing through his blood, it wasn't able to, it was Progenitor inside of him. The alpha and the omega. He was cultivating it from somewhere, breeding it, and building upon it in attempt to make something else.

He needed something worth killing Spencer over.

What?

What was he looking for?

He glanced up as Sherry emerged onto the porch of his safe house. This was one of many. He'd gone to ground the moment he'd known who he was. It was likely that Wesker himself was aware now, maybe always had been. It was the reason his mother was dead, he'd stake his life on it.

What was the end game here? What was Wesker after? Would it save everyone if Leon just turned himself over? Could he somehow limit Wesker's abilities and make them equal? Would a _Matrix _style showdown between them be enough to guarantee his demise?

And then what about Simmons and the chop shop he was running? Who would make them pay? The list of questions was endless. He didn't think it could get much worse.

Sherry's face was a mask of horror as she invited, "...you better come inside."

He ground out the cigarette and followed her into the little cabin. It was sparse, one room and a bathroom. It was little more than a bed with a small kitchenette and a television. A single hair sat by the window that had the only access to the single road climbing up the mountain to where they were. If anyone wanted in, they were coming out of the sky, up the mountain, or up that road.

It was as safe as he could make it.

The television was droning. Leon glanced at her face with his brows arched and she pointed, whispering, "...I'm so sorry."

The sound clicked on.

And he knew he was wrong. It could get so, so, so much worse.

The pretty face of Alyssa Ashcroft was in mid report, "-reports are still coming in of potential FBI manhunt. Officials are mum on the reasons, but the suspect is said to be armed, extremely dangerous, and responsible for at least three global terror attacks with more information becoming available as we speak. If you see him, you are to stay inside, lock your doors, and call 911. Once again - the suspect is Leon S. Kennedy - the S stands for Scott and he may be going by it as a pseudonym. He is approximately six feet tall and one hundred seventy five pounds. It is strongly cautioned that you do not approach him if you identify him visually, but that you immediately contact your local authorities. He may be seen with a number of known associates..."

And then Ada Wong flashed on the screen. She was followed by a series of faces that were known criminals. The final one was Sherry where the concerned reporter informed the listening public, "This woman is believed to be his prisoner. Her life is a stake. Any information is desperately needed to secure her release."

Leon watched it until it was over. He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, shaking his head, as Sherry whispered ,"...somebody wants you dead or in custody."

He laughed, voice laced with disdain, "...story of my life, kid."

He turned away toward the windows of the cabin, watching the moonlight flicker through the heavy pine trees. It was starting. He'd known, in his bones, that Wesker would do his level best to find them. He'd underestimated how far his reach extended.

His phone beeped from an unknown number. It was, of course, a burner phone he'd picked up at a gas station and loaded with minutes. He'd ditched any traceable phones when they'd left his loft behind. The number was blocked but offered a text with a single phrase: _Stay low. They messed with the wrong bitch. _There was a little kiss emoji following it.

Ada.

There was no one else it could be. This was her way of telling him he wasn't in it alone. It was how she gave him her pledge to do what she could from her side of the world. He didn't have to muddy himself and get involved. He knew, as he'd always known, that he could let her find the threads that tied him to whoever held his leash. He knew that.

He didn't want her involved. He wasn't sure why, but something about him had always wanted to keep Ada as far out of his business as possible. What was it about her that made him simultaneously protective of her and drawn to her?

A mystery.

Sherry's voice brought his head up, "What now? What's the plan?"

He laughed with ire, "...no plan. Hide out and wait. My face is now plastered all over the fucking country like I'm Jesse James - leader of the band of outlaws. I go out now, I'm gonna get spotted. I do that, I risk your safety too. We both know they're not gonna take you back there now and protect you. They want you back to use you. They want me back to...I don't know...frame me for whatever shit show they've got going where I'm the star."

He paced back and forth while the fury etched itself on his tired face.

She had to admit, she was getting a little concerned about him. He hadn't shaved, he was drinking too much, he smoked and rarely ate anything that wasn't from a fast food container. She knew they were on the lam here, but he was acting like -

Her mind stalled out. She froze as the thought finished for her...he was acting like a man who was grieving for his mother.

Of course he was. He was depressed and worse than that, he was mourning while he was being slandered across the media. His life, as he knew it, was in shambles. She was worried about him eating, and he was watching his world go up in flames.

He snatched up the pack of cigarettes from the table and stuck one between his lips with a curse, "...first they tie me to them so I can't get out. They make _damn _sure I know what I'm worth - nothing. They groom me, brainwash me to a certain extent, and toss me out in the battle like some well trained dog. They wrap their mother fucking hands around my balls and just start squeezing until they've gotten every last drop out of me - effectively neutering me until I'm no longer a man."

He puffed out the stench of acrid cigarette smoke on a hoarse laugh, "And then? They make sure they take everything in the world that matters to me. Every last thing I've ever cared about. They drive me into hiding like a criminal...they murder my-"

He trailed off.

Sherry felt her throat close up.

She waited, watching his back. The flannel he wore was the same red as rustic feeling of the cabin. It was all very _Man of the Mountain _here. From the buffalo plaid to the deer antlers on the walls. It didn't feel like him at all, but maybe that was point. Maybe he didn't want to be recognized here. Maybe, that's why they called it a safe house. He was supposed to be safe from being Leon S. Kennedy.

It was a ruse. They both knew he was never safe from that.

Sherry spoke into the void as he stopped talking. "...don't give up on me."

He tensed, she could see it in his shoulders. She could practically imagine his face with those eyes closed tight. She tried again, stronger now, "Don't give up on me. I know it's bad...it's really, really bad - but it's not over. They're trying to make you hide out and die, Leon. They want you gone. Why? They're trying to bury you without killing you. Don't let them...stay with me here...and let's _fight back."_

He turned toward her, looking winsome, "...such a brave girl...you always were braver than the rest of us. When Claire told me you'd survived - _alone -_ in that station before we'd ever gotten there...I thought she was nuts. She _had _to be nuts. There was no way something that weighed less than a sack of potatoes could have survived in a nightmare infested death trap."

They stared at each other until she told him, "...I was always really good at hide and seek."

His mouth twitched and gave her hope that part of him was still in the angry, broken, bleeding and grieving mess before her. "...I bet you were, kid. This is the ultimate game of it here. I have safe houses, plenty of them, in locations where nobody has a damn clue to even begin looking. The moving is gonna be hard. It won't be open highways and airplanes. It's gonna be living like fugitives...because that's what you'll be if you stay with me."

Sherry shook her head. She stepped toward him and then stopped, checking the impulse to touch him. "...you think I care about fancy hotels and silk sheets? I don't care if we're in a cave dug out of an underpass on the side of the road...I don't care if I have to piss in an old coffee can and eat from the garbage...I don't care about anything but clearing your name and making sure that no one takes anything else from you - _ever _again. I'm here. I'm staying. Tell me what to do. Tell me what you need. You need me to kill someone? You want me to kick their ass and get them to talk? You want me to hulk out on them and wreck their place until they spill the beans?"

His mouth twitched again. "...you sound like a bad film noir villain."

She laughed, her eyes bright for the first time in a while, "I'm ok with that. I can handle anything, Leon. I thought you knew that by now. Just tell me what you need - I'll make sure you get it."

Leon turned away to stare out of the window. She watched him, heart aching for the pain that was written across his features. Everywhere he turned, his life was in shambles. It was an impossible place to be...she'd been there. More than once. She'd stood on the precipice of the loss of everything and just despaired.

He was being selfish here by grieving and driving forward in blind revenge. He wasn't taking care of her. He'd promised he would. He was making a mockery of the trust Vera had placed in him. He had his head up his ass in anger and resentment and rage. He needed to shake loose the shackles of his own misery and start making clear headed choices here.

He told her, voice empty of anything but regret, "...you should find Claire. She'll listen, she'll understand...she'll make sure you're safe. Staying with me...it's suicide. Eventually, they'll kill me...and then you'll have no one. I'm a bad bet, Sherry. You should make a good one."

Quietly, she urged, "...you'll survive this. I will _always _bet on you. You've done the impossible, Leon. Don't let anyone take that from you. Don't forget who you are."

Leon shook his head and watched the shadows on the road. How far did he need to run to protect her? If he turned himself over, would the hunting stop? Or was destroying him just a side bonus to abduct her?

It was the first time since Raccoon City that he felt torn on what he should do. If he turned himself over, it left her unprotected, but it might just spare her life. If he ran with her, they'd eventually either find them or send something bigger and faster and stronger than him to finish him off to take her. What if she was a by product? What if it was _him _who was the target here?

What if the man with his eyes was out there simply trying to destroy the fruit of his loins?

Sherry wasn't just a girl. She was a girl who could punch a hole in the armored side of a tank. He needed to stop trying to protect her and start letting her equal him like a partner. The days of a girl in a dirty uniform were over. She was the last person on Earth who believed in him.

With a shiver of defeat, he queried, "...who am I? I knew once. I can't see anymore. I'm blind. I know I need to stop chasing my tail in a personal vendetta and start doing this like it's a job...I just...I just can't figure out who I am now...who am I?"

She knew. She'd _always _known. She was his rock, his safe haven, his sanctuary. She was what he'd lost in that house when they'd killed his mother and left him without anything to run back to. He didn't need to run to find it.

It was right here in this room.

Sherry's voice made his eyes close with emotion, "...you're the rookie who ignored the call to stay away...and went into a dying city to see if there was anyone left he could save. Don't give up on me now. I couldn't do anything then but stand behind you...but I can stand in front of you now. Let me fight for you...the way you've always fought for me."

He didn't deserve her. He should take her some place safe and leave her. He should sever ties with her and protect her. He wanted to _keep _her...because being around her somehow, someway...made him _strong. _She was the one with the strength...but her courage made her unstoppable. He was a better man just because she believed in him.

He'd do anything he could to keep that faith. It was time to stop wallowing and earn it.

He didn't look at her; he just nodded his ascent. He picked up his gun and went out the door to train. He might not be able to punch his way through to victory, but he could damn well make sure he could still answer her punch with his pistol.

Sherry let him be and went to sit on the bed to look over the gathering of files there. As far as she knew, Hunnigan was still on their side. She'd been funneling Leon information as discreetly as possible, at great personal risk. If anyone were to discover her duplicity, Ingrid Hunnigan could be brought up on charges as an enemy of the state with aiding and abetting a suspected terrorist.

It was risky as hell to get them any kind of intel. Apparently, he had a close enough relationship with her to warrant the risk. She wondered if they'd been involved romantically at one time. The pretty face of his field support stared up at her from a photograph of them together at a Christmas party. Had he been inside of her?

The thought gave her pause. How many women had been his lover? How many times had he risen above one in the dark to see her face while she climaxed? Was he a lothario? Was he a man who bedded any beautiful woman who batted her eyes? Was he a man who bedded none? She'd slung the eunuch remark at him before to see if she was right.

He hadn't disagreed.

He'd called himself a gentleman. He looked, but he didn't touch. Ever?

Or maybe not ever...maybe just _one._

Maybe Ada Wong had been not just his one...his _only._

Sherry curled on her side on the bed, listening to him swallow another shot of whiskey. Maybe he was the man who only touched you when you were the only thing in the world that mattered. He'd lost everything and the only hope she'd seen had come from an unknown number.

Ada Wong?

She frowned with jealousy.

Would it do any good to ask? He wouldn't tell her, she was sure of that. He was loyal to a fault in a way that was endearing. He wouldn't reveal Ada's secrets to Sherry under pain of death. That's just the type of man he was.

She fell asleep imagining him atop Ada Wong while she cupped his hips and moaned with pleasure. She decided no matter what else was true - she _hated _Ada Wong. Of course...that might have been good old fashioned jealousy talking.

* * *

**Sushestovanie Island**

* * *

The woman in red was making it harder and harder to find her. If there was one thing Ada Wong was good at, it was hiding. She'd been hiding from people her whole life. He knew, she knew, and the world suspected that her name had never really been Ada Wong at all. He knew what part of the streets she'd come from, rising through the ranks of the world they both occupied with a woman's determined flair for murder and espionage.

She was clever, beautiful, and accompanied by a natural sense of self preservation that he found admirable. He was going to enjoy pinning her down before he killed her. They might have had a profitable arrangement once, but she'd chosen love or good business. A woman's mistake. A human's mortal error.

Stupidity was the curse of the fragile state of the female mind.

He had to smoke her out. To do that, he would burn her last bridge and leave her stranded on whatever island she'd marooned herself on. With a smile, Wesker invited, "...he's in Colorado...let him run...but keep eyes on him until he stops again."

The voice of the other person made Wesker scoff, "Do your job, Mr. Death. It's what I pay you for. They'll be plenty of opportunity to add more kills to your count later."

He'd chase Kennedy to find Wong. He'd flush out the boy to find the woman waiting like a turd in a toilet bowel. He could, even now, walk in and take the Birkin girl and murder his own blood by the wayside.

But Kennedy had just kept coming. They fought and the boy wouldn't stay down. He was a tank. He was relentless. That kind of reaction in the face of future filled with nothing but pain and death deserved a reward.

In this case, it would be the opportunity to realign his allegiance. It was just a matter of convincing the boy that the father he'd hated all his life wasn't the man he thought he was. Wesker watched the monitors as the light flickered on his face.

It was almost time for another family reunion.

First, he had to get rid of the bitch standing in his way.

* * *

**No Name, Colorado**

* * *

Sherry woke this time to find him rousing her with a hand on her ankle. He said nothing, he just jerked his head. She knew the signs. she knew what it meant. She knew, it was time to run again.

She gathered her bad and joined him in the dark. They loaded onto the motorcycle he'd replaced the last car with. She climbed onto the back and gripped his waist.

The starlight guided them to the road. She heard the roar of that engine. She felt the wind. She heard the crunch of gravel and grass.

She knew he'd been away all night watching, watching, watching...and waiting. How long did he sit there waiting? Did he ever sleep?

She knew he'd seen enough to warrant the running.

He was living now with the truth - the world wanted him dead. They were on the run from the people he'd served so faithfully all these years. They were on the run from everyone. The good guys, the bad guys, the middle guys - there was nowhere and no one they could trust.

They were nomads on a road without end, headed toward the edge of a world without boundaries. She wanted to comfort him, but what could she say? Nothing. He'd seen everything he thought he believed in go up in smoke.

From white knight to dark knight - a warrior without a kingdom, a rebel without a cause. Waxing poetic made her somehow yearn a little for the ability to save him. If she could walk into a hail of bullets and rip the truth from the liars for him, she'd have gladly done it.

Instead, she just hung on as the motorcycle gobbled up the pavement and took them deeper into the dark unknown.


	13. Chapter 13

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part One:**

**-Under the Umbrella-**

* * *

**Chapter 13: Supernatural**

* * *

**Red Dead Wedding, New Mexico**

* * *

No matter where they landed, Ada found a way to funnel them information. She was pulling strings behind the scenes to attempt to locate Wesker, for all the good it would do. There was no doubt in Leon's mind now that he was the one with the agenda here.

Every contact, every asset, every door Leon had opened in his career had been closed off to him. He couldn't so much as sneeze in certain cities without the weight of a thousand paid hitmen coming out of the woodwork. What the government didn't control, the men behind the curtain certainly did. Someone had put out a hit on him, offered a ton of money, and made it worth the notice of most of the known guns in the business.

The safe house in New Mexico wasn't even one of his. It was Ada's. She'd funneled him the address via a goddamn dove somehow in the park in Wyoming where they'd been hiding. Like something out of Harry Potter, the bird had landed and dropped the tiny little note at his feet. It cooed and took flight and left him with the address of the last place anyone would ever look for them.

He could see why. It was little more than a hut built into the wall of a mountain. The dust balls that kicked up and the cover of cactus in the distance offered little to look at from the heavy clay hovel. It was as third world as you could get without stepping back in time and shacking up with the cavemen.

Sherry emerged from the house to find him standing in the rising sun shirtless. It was never less than a good show for any woman to see it. He was scarred, in ways you'd expect from a man who lived by the sword, but his body was finely honed. Confinement, in its way, had done wonders for his muscle tone. He had nothing better to do than hunker down, work out, and wait. They trained, sometimes from sun up to sundown, and often went undercover of hats and anything else into the small town to use the library public internet access and bounce signals around while they dug up anything that might help clear his name.

She'd come back one afternoon to find him taking target practice in the field beyond the hovel, but it hadn't been him. Not exactly. Not entirely. Not completely.

Sherry must have made some sound of shock because he'd turned, shorn hair and all, and remarked, "...yeah. That's how bad it is. Not my thing, huh?"

It was, and it wasn't. Without all the hair, the face lost the edge of model perfection that defined him. He'd lopped it off in a sloppy style that was short and flattering and colored it a boring brown. The contacts in his eyes turned the remarkable blue a non-descript hazel. It was startling to see a man who'd once been a rebel without a cause turned into another face on the street. Still, you could downplay him from handsome hero to generic extra all you wanted and you still couldn't hide those cheekbones and that signature chin... or so she thought.

He grew some kind of a beard. It was mostly a filthy five o'clock shadow that went on too long. It was as unflattering as it was common. He stopped wearing leather jackets and expensive designer jeans and switched to Wranglers and vintage t-shirts with stupid slogans on them. He looked as run of the mill as anyone. If she'd never met him and seen only his face on a wanted poster, she'd never have made them for the same guy.

She'd stood in the dying sun on that particular day, head tilted, and remarked, "...I'd say it's not you, but it kinda is. You look like Dean from _Supernatural."_

His brow furrowed, "...who?"

Sherry laughed softly and shrugged, "Doesn't matter. It works...but it takes a minute to get used to."

Leon blew out a hard breath and shook his head, "...yeah. A minute to get used to...right."

He'd turned back to the range and left her standing there aching for him. She wanted to find the right person and rip their throat out to give him back what he'd lost. It wouldn't do any good. It wouldn't change anything, but she hated to see him hurting.

The funny part was that the name stuck. He went by Dean whenever anyone in town would talk to them.

And Sherry returned the favor.

She wandered out into cool morning before the desert turned too hot and remarked, "...how about it, handsome?"

Shirtless, he turned to face her. She had that moment where her stomach seized the second their gazes locked. She was used to it. She'd been living with it all her life. He paused with the cigarette halfway to his mouth and blinked.

She'd popped in contacts of her own, turning her eyes brown and basic. She'd thrown on a clunky pair of cowboy boots and ragged looking shorts beneath a flannel tied off at the waist and graced her ears with chunky turquoise earrings. Her skin had turned a nice coppery gold from all the sun she was getting. She looked, it seemed, as local as you could get.

When he said nothing, he graze drifted to his belly and the still healing pinked scar there. It was hardly visible anymore. On the muscled patchwork plane of his abdomen, it just marked him as _male _in a way that made her mouth dry when she looked at him. To cut the awkward silence, she asked, "...you ever wax your chest?"

His brows winged up. His eyes sparkled a little as Leon returned, "...not that I recall. Why?"

She shrugged a shoulder and mused, "Seems you should have more chest hair."

He laughed and it was a good sound to hear. He was getting back to himself. It was taking awhile, but he was trying. Each time he punned or laughed or made a sarcastic remark, she felt a little more of him emerge from the shell created by his world falling apart.

His gaze lowered from head to toe on her. Sherry's heart knocked around as he retorted, "...seems you should have more clothes. Where do you think you're going in that?"

Sherry's laughter made his mouth twitch with amusement, "...really? You're half-naked. You wanna say something about my state of undress? You hypocrite."

Leon flicked his cigarette and moved toward her. Her heart slapped and sped up when he was close enough she could smell what was left of his shower that morning on him. He looked around her backside and made her headlight with pleasure when he replied, "...you're basically wearing denim underwear. This is how girls your age dress?"

Sherry licked her dry lips and cocked a hip, acting cute and coy, "...you don't like it? It's cowgirl chic."

His gaze latched on to the fraying edges of those denim shorts just barely at mid-thigh. If she shifted enough, he could catch a glimpse of what might be pink panties. Pink panties. What kind of woman wore pink panties? That was...it was...it was _girl colors. _She was a _girl._

He reinforced the thought in his head.

It was hard sometimes to remember she was a girl. The concept gave him pause. Hard. A curious word to use in the face of everything. Hard was the nature of their existence lately. From the way they lived to the state of the training, they did to the current condition of his dick looking at her in those denim underpants she was wearing.

Hard.

He had to admit, he liked the chubby in his pants. In a way, it meant he was still alive. He felt, sometimes, like parts of him had died in that house with his mother. That he was still in his body enough to get a boner from a nice ass was a blessing in disguise.

To his surprise, his hand came down and swatted her right on the ass in question. She jumped, her face flushed, and he instructed, "Clothes, princess. Go find some. This? This will get men to stare at you. This isn't how you blend in."

Sherry tilted her head and wondered, cheeks pink, "...do you care if they stare?"

He arched a brow, "Do you _want _them to?"

She shook her head. Her lower lip rolled under her teeth as she confessed, "...no...you maybe...but not anyone else."

Yeah. He was still alive. The surge of narcissistic pride of that one remark reminded him of the fact he was still a man underneath all the layers of pain and regret. He wanted to grab her denim-clad ass and hike her around his front and bury every bit of his man inside of her woman.

Annoyed, Leon skimmed passed her into the house. "Downplay it, kiddo. We don't need anyone to pop wood when you walk by with your ass shaking like a Vegas showgirl."

Sherry blinked into the coming sun when he was gone. Did he think she was trying to entice men? She was just trying to look like she belonged. As usual, it was abundantly clear she didn't. She'd never felt like she belonged. Growing up, she'd been a sore thumb in a family of geniuses. She'd gone from that to the girl that either was a monster or the one who had one for a father. She didn't need a shrink to let her know she had issues about abandonment and security.

He thought she'd risk their safety - _his _safety- for a few cheap thrills?

Leon was just putting some ice in the glass of his second glass of whiskey at 7 a.m. when Sherry admonished, "I would never do anything to risk what we're doing here."

His brows arched. He tilted his head at her, "No? You look like a cowgirl call girl. How is this blending in? You look like Daisy Duke - the porno edition. All that goddamn hair and your ass hanging out. Who are you kidding here? Go change, Sherry, you look like a whore."

Sherry felt the flush of embarrassment and shame. A cowgirl call girl? She'd studied the local girls to make sure she fit the profile perfectly. He was being deliberately cruel. Why? Because he was so fucking angry all the time? Because it was easier to call her a whore than deal with his own demons?

Quietly, voice trembling with anger, she warned him, "...I'm gonnna let you think about what you just said to me. I'm gonna pretend it's that cheap-ass whiskey talking instead of a man who knows me better than that. And if you ever call me a whore again, I'm gonna show you how hard a cowboy call girl can slap."

She spun on her heel and disappeared into the bathroom.

It wasn't her fault.

He let the guilt rush over him as he heard her quietly close the door. She didn't even slam it. She didn't storm off. She didn't throw things or have a fit or over react. She just...shamed him and walked away.

He felt like a fucking asshole. He was always unsteady when feelings for her cropped up and cramped his belly. He didn't want to feel like this about anyone, ever, and certainly not in the middle of the biggest mess of his life. He was half hard with want of her, half hard up with grief. He was a goddamn mess. It wasn't her fault, any of it, but apparently his dick didn't care. It wanted him to hurt her because it wanted to be inside of her.

Stupid.

He was stupid.

Contrite, he set down the drink and knocked on the door softly, "Hey...I'm sorry, kid. What can I say? I'm an asshole."

From beyond the door, her small voice admonished him, "I'm tired of your asshole...it stinks."

His mouth twitched. His lips curled up on a smile. He didn't laugh, but it was close. She was cute without trying sometimes. Tone sweet, he teased, "...yes, yes it does. Like shit."

Her silence was loud somehow. After a moment, Sherry returned, "...you think you're cute, but you're not."

Leon urged with a touch of witty repartee, "...I'm a little cute."

Sherry's voice answered, "...go away and get some pie..._Dean."_

He laughed and left her alone behind the door. He figured a trip into town and some flowers might soothe the savage beast of hurt feelings a little more. He was sorry to keep lashing out at her. He didn't think he'd have made it this far without her.

With everything going on, she was the only anchor left in his world. He didn't want to cut her loose because part of his body wanted to find its way into part of hers. That was juvenile and stupid. Was he going to blame her because his body liked her in those shorts?

While in town, he intercepted a message from Ada in the local paper. She dropped messages in the personals like a code between good spies. He deciphered it quickly enough - she was implying that so far the coast was still clear and he was stay to put. Annoyed, wanting to go out and kick some asses and clear his name, Leon returned to the safe house feeling grumpy again.

Sherry emerged from the bathroom as he was setting her flowers in a vase on the table. Without looking at her, he started bitching, "Still no word on when we can even begin to escape this hell hole. I wish I knew who the fuck was behind the goddamn smear campaign."

Sherry soothed, "You'd do what? Punch them until they cleared your name?"

He turned to face her, "I'd probably kick the-"

She'd cut off all her hair. The sight of her stopped him where he stood. He froze, eyes wide. It was shaggy and short, dyed from the pretty platinum of her youth to the dirty dishwater blonde of a typical woman.

She'd thrown on a baggy t-shirt over the shorts and ditched the boots for bare feet. She looked like a teenager home from college for the summer. She looked...her hair...he was...his mind was tossing around in a sea of surprise.

Sherry gave him a droll look, "...there. Nothing special about me now, is there? Just another dumb blonde in a big shirt. Good enough for government work, right?"

She turned and left him where he stood, still blinking. He felt like a shitty asshole now for sure. He'd shamed her into to cutting her hair almost pixie short.

Leon leaned on the counter and closed his eyes. There was only one thing in the world that was capable of making him feel like he was utterly and completely without a hope of surviving. It wasn't monsters...it was-"...women."

One woman leaving him with a huge hole in his heart that was slowly bleeding him to death. One keeping him captive in her safe house while he sat around with his dick in his hand waiting for her to save him. One making him wish for things he'd never be able to hold onto in a million years.

He stood there wishing he'd never met a single one.

* * *

The soft sound of music drew Sherry from her bedroom. He was sitting on a chair in the kitchen strumming his guitar. He looked so sad in the setting sunlight. She stood in the hallway watching him with a swell of emotion she couldn't really describe. How was it that he could be somehow even more beautiful in the thick of complete loss?

He wore tortured underdog like other heroes wore a cape. If perseverance had a face, it was graced by a buttchin and a pair of perfect blue eyes. Sherry listened as he intoned the sadness left behind at the loss of everything he'd loved.

Sherry leaned on the wall, watching him mourn with his eyes closed and his brilliant fingers finding a way to use that music to make a plea for some kind of peace.

_Underneath the cold November sky_

_I'll wait for you_  
_As the pages of my life roll by_  
_I'll wait for you_  
_I'm so desperate just to see your face_  
_Meet me in this broken place (*)_

She wondered if she'd ever reach a point where she didn't want to kick in the teeth of anyone who made him hurt like that. His mother's face was all over his. His heart was hers, that broad and encompassing love that Sherry had felt for just a fraction of what he'd spent a life time protecting was ingrained in his bones. Vera had raised him from the seed of a psycho, to the soul of a superman.

Her mouth twitched with her own poetic reflection. It seemed he wasn't the only one who could find music in their feelings. Apparently, she was one flowery passage away from a Shakespearan style sonnet.

_Even if You take it all away_  
_I'll wait for you_  
_Even when the light begins to fade_  
_I'll wait for you_  
_I'm so desperate calling out your name_  
_Meet me in this broken plac_e

Her heart squeezed as she watched the grief streak across his face. He needed to sit down somewhere and sob, but he'd never do it. He just wasn't built that way. So he just...suffered in silence. Well, he suffered in stereo - since music made a path for him to walk toward healing.

_Hold me now_  
_I need to feel you_  
_Show me how_  
_To make it new again_  
_There's no one I can run to_  
_And nothing I could ever do_  
_I'm nowhere if I'm here_  
_without you_

When his hands slowed, Sherry filled the silence with a single question, "...Vera or God?"

He laughed and it sounded like breaking glass somehow, "...there is no God. I thought you knew that."

He set down the guitar and rose. Sherry laid a hand over her chest to feel her thumping heart, "..._Leon..._you don't mean that. Every one needs something to believe in."

"Not me." He lifted the gun holstered under his arm and winked at her angrily, "But I got this, kiddo. The way of the gun? That's something you can put your faith in."

"...you need more than a goddamn gun."

"Yeah? Says who? You're right. I need the gun and a good glass of whiskey. The rest is negotiable."

He moved into the kitchen and she followed him. His hands grabbed for the cigarettes on the counter and the lighter.

Sherry admonished, "...you don't need that either."

She shook her head and grabbed for his hands as he snapped, "Stop trying to mother me, Sherry! Don't tell me what I need!"

He grabbed her arms and shoved her away, gently, because even angry at her, he'd never hurt her. Aching for him, she grabbed the pack of cigarettes and crushed it in her hand. The other grabbed his lighter and she threw it out the window beside him hard enough it disappeared in the sand too fast to find where it landed.

The anger on his face was good. She liked the anger. Anger would get him back to himself faster than anything. She warned him, "Every time you light it up, I'm gonna slap that shit outta your mouth. Do you understand me?"

His hand seized around her throat and pushed. Her back hit the refrigerator hard enough she let out a gasp as he growled, "...don't ever tell me what to do, Sherry. I had a mother, I don't need another one. Do you hear me?"

Quietly, she returned, "...how would she feel to see you like this? Angry. Smoking yourself stupid. Drinking like a fish. Living on the idea that all there is for you now is bullets and blood? How would she feel?"

His teeth flashed as he snarled, "She wouldn't feel anything! You know why!? She's _dead_!" It echoed. She jumped. He added, hand squeezing a little around her delicate skin, "She's dead, Sherry. Dead. You get that right? She's gone. She doesn't feel anything anymore."

Sherry nodded, eyes bright with sympathy, "I know that. But you _do. _You feel it all. So _feel _it. Hate yourself. Hurt. Break. Fall apart, but don't join her. You didn't die. You're still here. _Be _here. Stop trying to kill yourself with guilt."

Leon's jaw flexed so hard that she thought he might break a tooth. She watched his left hand clench into a fist. For a moment, a brief one, she wondered if he'd hit her. Would it make him feel better? She'd just had the thought that he'd never hurt her, but what if hurting her helped him heal?

So, she offered, "...go ahead. It's my fault right? She's dead because of me. They wanted me. They came for me. The freak, the fucking monster, the daughter of a dead Dr. Frankenstein...I came into your life and fucked it all up, right? I forced you into a fucking life you never wanted. I cost you everything. It's me. I'm the reason."

His eyes flinched with pain and she urged, "Yeah. You know it. I know it. It's me. Hit me and make it all go away. Go ahead..I can take it. If it works, if it helps...hit me hard. Break my fucking jaw."

Softly, his mouth opened and he offered, "...or maybe I should just kill you instead. Dead...maybe they stop chasing us. Maybe...I get my life back."

Oh god.

Her heart stopped.

The flash of something like fear on her face, somehow, made him feel good.

The moment he saw it, his hand retreated. He backed up. She covered her mouth with her hand and slid away. His hands shot into his hair and jerked to restore something but rage to his brain.

Hurting, he grumbled, "...see? We're both monsters after all. Not hard to understand right? Knowing who my father is. Apparently, blood runs true."

Sherry shook her head and backed down the hallway, whispering, "...no it doesn't. I'm nothing like my father...I would never put my needs over yours...I would never risk you...and I would _never _betray you...you _bastard."_

She turned away and hurried toward the bedroom.

Leon kept on staring out the window of the safehouse until his eyes closed. He hadn't meant it. He'd never ever risk her either. He just...he wanted to hurt her. Why? Did part of him blame her for all of this?

Or did misery simply love the company?

Was it just a matter of knowing it was all _his _fault? All of this was his fault. He had a monster for a father, and he'd become one himself. It wasn't Sherry. It was_ him. _It had always been him.

He was going to get her killed. His hand-picked up the neck of his guitar. He strummed the strings and thought of Vera. What would she tell him here?

_We're just sand and water, baby, eventually we all wash away. What remains is the memory of what you did while you were here._

He'd hurt her twice today. First in a rush of hormones, next in a rush of regret. He was as volatile as a volcano about to burst. He needed to harness his emotions before he spilled lava all over and burned them both.

Leon moved down the hallway and knocked on her door. She didn't answer, so he simply grabbed the knob and pushed the door open. Sherry snatched up the shirt she'd just dropped on the floor and covered her chest as he moved toward her, admonishing, "...I said to lock the door."

And she answered, "...I told you...I will never lock the door to you."

His throat closed a little as he demanded, "Even if I came in here to kill you?"

Her lips trembled, "...if that's what you need...then give it your best shot."

When he was close to her, he confessed, "...I don't do well in captivity like this."

Her eyes sparkled with empathy, "...I know the feeling...you get used to it."

"...yeah?"

"Yeah. Eventually...you just give up the fight."

When he was close enough to smell her shampoo, he wondered, "...how do you give it up?"

Her voice whispered, "...I don't know. For you? I don't know."

His face showed so many feelings at once that her heart hurt a little for him as he finally gushed, voice hoarse, "...I would _never _hurt you." He sounded so broken, so pained, " ...I'm so sorry. I'm just - I keep letting you down. I can't just...I don't know how to just lay down and hide..I'm just...I'm not the guy you want beside you here, Sherry. I'm going to get you killed...I'm g-"

Her hands grabbed his shirt and tugged. Her shirt tumbled to the floor. In just her bra, she clutched him to her. He resisted, trying not to hold her and Sherry commanded, gently, "Hug me back, you idiot...and shut up. Just shut up, Leon. When the time comes, you'll pick up that gun and kill them all. You'll save us both. You'll do that...for now? Just stop fighting so hard. Mourn your mother. Let go...let go and just...let time find the meaning of the pain inside of you...it's there...it'll happen..."

And then?

She whispered, "...you know...I keep thinking about something your mom told me...we're just sand and water, Leon...eventually? We either wash away or turn to stone..."

_Just sand and water, baby...stone? It's sand and water...and a million years gone by._

His left hand flattened on the wall beside her head. His face lowered and his free hand caught her arm to hold it. Sherry's caressed his face, turned it down to her, and she lifted hers to rub their noses together. He didn't make a sound. He closed his eyes and she kissed his mouth, sweetly somehow. She whispered, urgently, "...let me help you wash it away..."

Jesus. Somehow the pain squeezed his heart so hard that he thought he might drop dead right there. Instead, he opened his mouth. Sherry made a small sound of need and swept her tongue inside. The moment she did, he leaned down closer to her and let it turn wet and almost desperate.

The hand on her arm pushed her back against the wall and she went on tiptoe to devour the taste of him. They kissed breathless and slick with tongues and teeth and taste mingling. She was sweet and unsure, young and wonderfully ripe. She gave it as good as she got. She didn't play games. She didn't whimper and giggle. She just went after him like she'd eat him.

In a way, it was exactly what he'd needed.

The hand on her arm shifted. It slid down her belly and she gasped, sucking in a breath as it found its way into her pants. Sherry gripped his face, swallowed his caressing tongue, and arched her back toward him.

The good guy in him said - _don't touch. _But he was tired of being so good. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to see if it felt as good inside of her as she did inside of his heart.

His hand dipped under her panties and down to cup her mound. She cooed softly and one of her hands curled up his biceps where they braced his free hand on the wall beside her head. She thought, with mad glee, he was _finally _going to touch her.

And then? He just did.

Sherry's left hand squeezed his face as he slipped between the slick folds of her body to finger her. The moment he was inside her with those eager digits, something just...snapped into focus for him. He stopped hurting and just stepped back into his body.

He leaned back to see her face - eyes closed, cheeks pink, mouth parted in a small sound of tiny pants, lips rosy from kissing, damp from the tasting. Beautiful. Perfect. Pure and clean and wonderfully tender.

He explored the creamy heat of that wonderful purity. She moaned and humped toward the feel of him. She let him stoke and stroke her until he finally claimed the whole of her with two taking thrusts.

She felt his fingers part and purge her of the last of her fear. They claimed the core of her body, tucking into her in an increasing tempo. Her hips jerked as he urged her, "...more?"

She nodded. She grunted softly when he increased it, feeling her pretty pussy seize seductively with each stroke. Warm and wet and eager and tight. She was all those things. She was something beautiful he'd been denying all this time. She was a sanctuary. He wanted to be inside of her and forget anything but this - _this - _this wonderful, mind-boggling thing that happened when he touched her.

He wanted to drown in her innocence.

If he took her, he'd take that innocence away.

She whined high and scared, her thighs seized around his invading hand, and her body just released. She soaked his hand as her belly and thighs, sagging against his palm, using her grip on his biceps to hold herself up. She could toss a motorcycle like rice at a wedding, but she was fragile in that moment with him inside of her. The amount of power that surged through his blood was maddening.

He had a very clear moment of understanding how a villain starts to covet the rush of power that comes with possessing the innocent. He was chasing a high that he could only find inside of this girl. This was what utter corruption felt like. She was suddenly the only thing in the world he wanted. His mouth lowered and kissed her, softly, almost sweetly. Sherry whimpered and held on until he drew his hand from her pants.

He wanted to turn her against the wall and fuck her to see if he could feel that rush again. That's what it was. He wanted to ruin her to feel that rush. It was the first time in days he'd felt more than numb. Wanting her was almost an addiction.

And so he stepped back while she quivered and curled her arms around her chest in the aftermath.

Softly, he murmured, "...see why you should lock the door?"

Sherry shivered, eyes rolling a little as the orgasm cleared her system, and returned hoarsely, "I'm leaving the damn thing wide open from now on."

His mouth twitched. He turned and fled. He wanted to stay and finish her off. He'd be _damned _if he became the guy who ruined her innocence to get over his dead mother and his undead father.

On one hand, sex was just an outlet for everything he couldn't handle now. It was a way to express frustration and stagnation and castration, all forced on him by people who'd once been his friends and coworkers. He'd fucked his way through half of Europe after his success in Spain had made him the golden boy of the bioterror world. He knew sex was good. He knew it felt great.

He knew it sometimes made girls love you. He knew he wanted to avoid it when it mattered. It mattered here. With Sherry, like this, it mattered more than it had ever mattered before. She was wonderfully naive and redeeming. She wasn't some loose girl he'd met at club in Copenhagen. She made him almost crave her.

He didn't have time to chase her around like a horny boy. He didn't have time for anything like that. The whole world was out to kill him. Taking her to bed would ruin her, and leave her vulnerable to his enemies, and leave her alone with nothing but his memory if he died.

He would never do it to her. He didn't want her to mourn him the way he was mourning. He didn't want her to regret him.

Aloud, he reaffirmed, "I'm a good guy..._god damnit."_

He would go to his grave saying it. With the whole world waiting for his corpse to turn up, probably sooner than later.


	14. Chapter 14

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part One:**

**-Under the Umbrella-**

* * *

**Chapter 14: Dissonance to Harmony**

* * *

She dreamed of him. It wouldn't be the first time or the last and this one had her tossing in her sleep with more than discomfort from the drastic temperature drop that occurs in a desert at sundown. This one was from a fever in her blood that had Leon Kennedy's face on it.

She was half convinced she'd imagined the whole thing. She knew one of two things would happen now - he'd pull away, or he'd push closer. She was terrified of one, and petrified of the other. Her life was so far from what she'd been, that just thinking of him inside of her left her breathless and dizzy. Who were they here? They weren't who they'd been. They could just be...together. They could just be lovers. They could just be whoever they wanted.

They could just be everything to the other.

The romantic in the girl brought her out of her bedroom in the dark house to search for him and find the couch where he slept empty. She shouldn't be surprised. He never slept. He hardly ate. He drank and fought and fell further into whatever spiral of depression came from being a caged tiger covered in grief and regret.

He was wildfire with those feelings. He was all over the place. He was hurting, he was angry, he was determined, he was cold, he was hot, he was a whirlwind of want and need and misery. She wanted to soothe him. She wanted to heal him. She wanted to protect him.

She didn't know how to help him. She didn't know how to heal him. She didn't know how to do anything but watch him struggle and wish she could take his pain, for just a single moment, until it left him full of laughter and pride again.

He thought he'd lost that arrogant and beautifully prideful boy that had once saved the president's pride and joy from thousands of murdering monsters. Sherry could still see him. He was still in there. He was just lost under a cloying cloud of foggy failure.

Didn't he understand? The failure had _never _been his. He was just a child of a man who'd spent a life time failing.

Sherry found Leon sitting on the table by the window. The curls of smoke around him highlight his steely profile. The moonlight gilded his cheekbones and the slant of his nose. He was there, like a guard dog, watching the world beyond the glass like he'd stand between it and the girl he'd sworn to protect. Waiting.

He was always waiting.

For what?

She wasn't sure he even knew that answer.

She was about to see which path he'd take. He'd either reject her or he'd let her closer. She approached him like she might a wounded wolf, slowly, tenderly, and looking as non-threatening as possible. It might have been humorous, if she wasn't nearly trembling with fear of rejection.

She knew he was aware of her as she crossed the cool kitchen toward him. The moonlight dotted over his shadowed back, showing the scars to a surreal inspection. Her fingers hesitated and finally settled, sliding over one behind his left shoulder and touching the freshest one that graced his biceps where the bullet had winged him the last time they'd run.

So, it was closer after all. She knew..she was the only person in the world he'd let close enough to really touch him. Her heart filled with him.

Her voice trembled with something mournful and sad, "...so much pain...how do you stand it?"

She was surprised when he actually answered her. The rhetorical question hadn't really been an attempt to get a response. His tone was gruff and tired, "You just...you learn to disconnect it. You learn to just...finish the fucking mission."

Sherry's fingers skimmed the bullet wound on his upper chest. He let his eyes close for a moment as she urged, "This isn't a mission...it's your life...it's your _life_, Leon...and mine. You're _my_ life. Let me be yours...just..."

He turned his head toward her. His chin settled over the top of his shoulder. His arms were wrapped over his knees where he perched. He watched her, his eyes shiny in the moonlight. He bounced his gaze around her face and he didn't say no. He didn't say stop. He just watched her.

Her hands were shaking. She thought she might pass out with nervous tension. Sherry pressed a kiss, tremulously, against the still pink scar on his arm.

He didn't stop her. He didn't encourage her. He just watched her.

She pressed another to one that flattened along his clavicle. He shifted his head to let her. Her heart started to flutter a little when she kissed another on the back of his neck. Her sweet kisses kept on going - the curve of his ribs on the right side, the smattering of old scars at the base of his spine. The moment she kissed at the edge of his left hip, she felt him shiver and his skin pebbled with goosebumps.

Sherry eased around his side. Her hands curved around his knees and tugged. His legs straightened and let her between, dangling toward the floor. Without a word, he watched her lips continue their journey. She kissed the bullet wound on his chest. She kissed the whitened stripe of claw scars that laced up the side of his neck. As she rose, with him sitting on the table, she was taller than him.

Sherry's shaking hands glided up his back and caught his face. He let her. He let her tilt his head back as her lips kissed over his chin. His voice was rough and deep, "...no scars there, kid."

And she answered, "...no...just pain."

Leon's hands finally moved up and skimmed the outside of her thighs under that big shirt she wore. He cupped them over her hips and those pink panties that haunted him. Sherry's lips skimmed over his nose and he had a moment to think about stopping it. He should stop it.

He didn't _want _to stop it.

Quietly, Sherry wondered, "...so what now?"

Her sweet mouth touched over his, tender and soft. Leon's hands slid down her butt and tugged. Sherry made a small sound and moved against him. He opened his mouth and urged, lips brushing, "...I think now you kiss me, kid."

Her fluttering heart nearly killed her with how fast it was beating. Sherry made a small mewl of want and obeyed. She pressed her lips to his until he answered the move. His hands roamed up under the shirt and over her naked back. They guided her forward as she licked the seam of his lips until he opened them and her tongue took a journey into the waiting warmth of his mouth.

Leon's met hers in a slow swirl. She whimpered and he sucked softly on hers until she almost collapsed against him. Jesus she was young. She learned his mouth like she eagerly learned the skills his taught her to keep her alive.

She followed his lead, looping the flavor of their joined tongues as he urged her into a harder battle of breath. When the kiss turned wetter, Sherry gripped his face to hold him to her as she sucked and savored him. It was, without a doubt, the best kiss he'd ever had. She was so goddamn desperate. She smelled like peaches and her skin felt smooth and silky.

When she drew back with swollen lips to breathe, his left hand circled her rib cage and cupped one of her breasts. She gasped, thrusting her body into the touch. Uninhibited, unbidden, just all feelings and flushed flesh. She wasn't trying to be anything here. There was no agenda. She just_ wanted_ him.

Leon's gruff tone accompanied a dizzy flush on her cheeks as he queried, "...what do you need?"

What did she want?

She didn't know. She only knew one thing. So she said, "...you."

It must have been the right answer because his right hand skimmed down her belly into her panties in answer. She had a moment to feel like she should flee in fear, and his whole palm cupped her over her damp panties. Sherry whimpered, gripping his face, and their mouths brushed as he offered, "...it's ok. I can stop anytime. Ok?"

Sherry shook her head desperately. Her hips rocked against the feel of him touching her. When she made a small gasp, he instructed, "...let me see you."

Nodding, she let go of his face. His hands caught the bottom of her big shirt and tugged it up. She lifted her arms and let him take it, tossing it to the floor. She wanted to object, but his hands on her hips guided her in front of him. He watched her face while he touched her, making her dizzy with need.

Annoyed with the darkness, Leon reached over to flick on the soft light above the stove. It cast a greater glow on her skin and made her gasp softly. He grumbled, "...I want to see you."

And she thought maybe, just maybe, it was the first time she'd seen anything but pain on him in a long time.

He cupped her breasts, weighing them, and her nipples peaked prettily for his thumbs that swept back and forth across them. She shivered, watching his face as he leaned over to taste each one. Wet and hot, the feel of his mouth made her nearly fall back against the wall behind her.

To spare her, Leon guided her to sit on the table and slid off it to move around her. Her hands braced behind her at the hips, his hands skimmed down her belly and parted her thighs, opening her legs to see her panties in the light. She flushed hot with embarrassment as he murmured, "...fuck...already wet."

Voice quick with shame, she told him, "...I'm sorry."

He laughed.

He knew it was wrong. The second it happened, he knew it was wrong. She looked like he'd kicked her puppy. Before she could close her legs in shame, his hand slid into her panties. She gasped, and he soothed, "...no...sorry? God no. It's good. Sherry...wet? It's _good."_

His arm scooped around her hips and lifted. Her legs looped around his waist as he carried her to the bedroom she'd left behind and laid her back on the mattress. His hands caught the hips of her panties and pulled, her legs bicycled to help him, and she had a moment to know this was it. This was _it. _It was the moment he stopped doing anything but letting the same crippling need she'd felt for years crush them both.

He wanted to taste her and show her, but he couldn't wait. His hand caught hers and guided it between her legs. He set the rhythm of her touching himself as his own shifted to peel down his sleeping pants. He watched her face flush with shy want when his dick caught the light from the bathroom and revealed itself like a filthy pervert looking for a show.

Sherry's free hand painted along his belly. Leon curled his fingers around the girth of his cock and stroked it. She watched, trembled, and couldn't hold the look. Her lashes lowered demurely over her pink cheeks. She was shaking. She was so nervous.

Her innocence was intoxicating.

He wanted to drown in it.

There was an urgency he couldn't define in him to just _take her._

So, he answered that urgency. He climbed onto the bed, caught her hips, and tugged her forward. Her legs opened, her hands shot up to grip his biceps as he leaned over her. His hand guided his dick at the warmth of her.

He should ask her if she was sure. He knew she was pure. He should ask her to be sure it's what she wanted. Instead, his mouth told her, "...it'll hurt, baby. Just...stay with me."

Before she could ask what he meant, he showed her. His dick embedded itself of her. She stretched, she gasped, and he wasn't easy about it. He didn't sweetly slide inside of her - he claimed her body with a very determined thrust. Sherry's cry was musical somehow as he seated himself inside of her. Her hands scrambled and slapped a little at his chest with the pain that came when she ripped inside.

Her eyes pricked with tears. She wanted to command him to get out of her, but he looked so goddamn happy to be inside. His mouth lowered and nuzzled at hers. She whined sweetly and opened her mouth. His kiss soothed her. The burning of his invasion was softened by the sound of his voice, "...I'm sorry, sweetheart. Just-it'll-_fuck."_

His expression was part sorrow for hurting her, part joy of being buried to the balls inside of her. Her body just kept pulsing, squeezing, soaking, seeking whatever he wanted to deposit inside of it. He wanted to pull out and sink back in to feel it contract and accept him, a hot hug of her body simply surrendering to the plunge of his inside of her. When she whimpered, he did just that.

He went out. He went in. She gasped and resisted slightly, shaking beneath him. She whispered, brokenly, "...it hurts."

He knew that.

He knew it hurt.

He was hurting her.

He should stop.

His mouth lowered instead. He kissed her, sinking into the savoring taste of her mouth. She craned up toward him, drowning in it. His arms gathered around her, pressing her against him. He was inside of her...he was holding her to comfort her...he was _inside _of her.

Sherry's hands gripped his face. She turned it toward her to kiss him with everything she'd wanted for years. She was here. She was in his bed, but he was inside of _her. _It felt like a dream.

After a few moments of desperate kissing, he caught her hands to pin them over her head. She whimpered, submitting, even as her body burned a little with the first few thrusts. Their fingers twined, holding above her now as her body welcomed his weight. Her breasts jutted prettily as her back bowed, as her thighs spread to offer him more. Without all the hair, the sheer beauty of her face was haunting.

His arms gathered behind her to pull her up. She straddled into his lap, whimpering while he fucked her. Her arms and legs seized around him. She went up and came down on him without prompting. He surged beneath her, twisting her hair around his fingers to kiss her wetly while he tried to find out how deep he could go.

When she went impossibly wet around him, Leon lowered his mouth to help himself to the sweet taste of those pink, pink, pink nipples. Sherry gasped, her body sealed around the splitting surge of his dick claiming it, and he knew it was time. It was time.

He slung her to her back on the bed while she quivered. He pulled out of her and made her wince. She was still quaking when he painted her belly and pretty blonde bush with the hardest damn orgasm he'd had in years. His hand shot out to brace on the wall behind her where she lay. He leaned over and swathed her sweet skin in sticky ropes of cum. It looked like pearls woven among the soft hair of her pussy.

Sherry's hands slid up his belly, stroking and soothing somehow as he came all over her. When he finished, trembling, she caught his face to tug him down. They kissed over the sign of her surrender, his mouth making hers ache with its desperation.

He was aware she hadn't had an orgasm. He knew it. He'd wanted to give her one, but his own need had risen like leviathan and tugged him down into the depths of its own release.

After a moment, he rolled away to go into the bathroom.

Sherry lay on the bed blinking at the ceiling.

She wasn't a virgin anymore. She wasn't a virgin anymore. She wasn't a virgin anymore. It felt surreal. She'd given her virginity to the rookie who'd saved her in Raccoon City. She'd given herself to the only man she'd ever loved.

She wanted to feel anything but joy, but couldn't.

She was afraid he'd run now. He'd run away from her like he'd been doing for years. He'd just r-

He cleaned off his release from her with a damp cloth. She lay still as a statue watching him. He cleaned her up and took the rag back to the bathroom. She waited, wondering what happened now.

The bed springs squeaked. He crawled over it. Her arms lifted and down he came. He just...laid atop her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her legs parted, he moved between, and his arms curled around her back and body. She felt her eyes close with happiness.

No running.

He just laid there and held on.

He dragged the blanket up over them where they lay. His mouth turned into the bend of neck and shoulder. She turned her face, testing, and he met her mouth in a sloppy kiss.

Just like that - he was hers.

She would spend the rest of her life destroying anyone who tried to take him away.

She tried out her last test, "...I love you."

He snuggled his mouth against her again. His hand slid up under the covers to play with her breasts. He waited a moment and finally replied, "...ditto, kiddo."

Not the exact response she wanted, but he'd never been the type to shout poems from the rooftop. She'd take it. She'd take him. She'd keep him. She'd kill every last fucking person who even made him doubt himself ever again.

And she just laid there listening to him breathe while they both just kept holding on.

* * *

He was gone when she woke with the sunlight on her shoulder. Her eyes blinked. Her belly quivered and she _remembered. _She'd dreamed of him so often, for a long moment, she'd almost forgotten it wasn't one.

Sherry rolled to her back on the bed. She covered her mouth with her hands and just giggled. It wasn't the most grown up response in the world, no, but it was the right one for a girl who'd spent a long time waiting for the right boy.

The right boy? Nope. The right _man. _Even if he just...stopped. Even if he just stopped looking at her now. She knew he saw the woman she was and not the girl she'd been. She was a woman now. She was _his _woman...if he wanted her.

Sherry draped one of his t-shirts around her and eased down the hallway. He was strumming his guitar in the living room. She didn't smell any lingering cigarette smoke. A glance at the clock told her it was nearly nine a.m.

He hadn't smoked.

She didn't see a half devoured glass of Jack Daniels anywhere either.

He hadn't drank. He hadn't smoked.

Loving her had...what? Calmed him? Had she somehow found a way to help him after all? Was she better than any of his vices?

Her whole body warmed as if she'd stepped into the sunlight.

She listened until the music stopped and turned to get a mug from the cabinet to pour herself some coffee. He was leaning there on the arch between rooms watching her. Heart knocking, she offered, "You want some coffee?"

She dropped the mug as he simply over took her. It was aggressive, and very wonderfully alpha male, and almost too much for a girl still riding the romance from knowing she was the thing worth waiting for him too. He scooped her up against him. Her arms looped around his shoulders as he set her on the counter and she opened her legs to let him between them.

They clung, Sherry's fingers missing the fall of his hair to bury in. She closed her eyes and simply absorbed him. No words necessary.

His mouth murmured against her neck and shoulder, "...you sore?"

She blinked. Her body swelled with need as she realized what he was asking, "...nope."

His laugh was a little muffled. Her eyes squeezed with happiness to hear him do it. Laughter. He _needed _it. He was a man who thrived in humor. He was just that guy. He was funny and sardonic and witty. He punned and made bad jokes and was adorable when he was drunk.

She'd missed him. He'd been here the whole time, but not really. Somehow, he was here right now.

Testing him, Sherry turned his face up to her. She held it, he looked at her in a way that was just so..._gentle, _and she kissed him slowly. His mouth turned up into a grin, "...why do you look like you're waiting for me to fart on you?"

Sherry felt her mouth twitch, "...I wasn't sure how you'd be after -"

Leon shook his head. He stole her breath and simply palmed her naked groin with his hand where she was pressed against him on the counter. Her eyes flared and he told her, voice thick with emotion, "...not a coward, Sherry. An idiot, maybe, but not a coward. You want me?"

_LORD. _Her heart was hurting. She nodded, breathless, and he echoed it, remarking, "...then here I am. Where it goes..." He shrugged, and finished, "We could be dead in an hour. So, I'm done hiding from this...and you. I'm here...I want you..so..."

His hands slid up under the shirt and palmed her breasts. Her eyes crossed and she slumped into him. His laugh was like music to her ears, "...so, just let me have you."

Her voice broke as he kneaded her begging body while she squired, "...for as long as can?"

He leaned down. Their lips brushed, his voice was thick and hungry, "...for as long as I want...leave your door open...and just let me in."

She opened her mouth to accept him. She opened her thighs in acceptance. She opened her heart in desperation. Did he think she'd ever say no?

* * *

"Why don't you want to go...ya know...inside of me?"

He looked up from where he was flipping through pages from some reports Hunnigan had funneled him via a courier in town. His brows knit as he asked, "...what?"

"You...you don't..." Sherry gestured at her groin, "...you don't go..." Her face flamed pink with some kind of embarrassment that made him adore her, "..._in _me."

Leon tilted his head, "...I don't want to get you pregnant."

Oh.

Ohhhhhh.

Of course that was why. She had a moment to feel like an idiot. Of course, that was the only reason. At first, she'd thought it felt bad inside of her or something. She shook her head, face still hot with embarrassment, "...I thought maybe you didn't - that I wasn't..." She blew out a hard breath and laughed at herself, "...I'm stupid."

He blinked twice before he returned, "...Sherry...do you think it's because I don't _want _to?"

Her face turned red as she assuaged, "...n-no. Hah. No. I'm being-I'm just being stupid. I'm sorry I brought it up. What are you working on there?"

He'd loved her three times since that first time. It had been a handful of the best days of her life. She was risking it on a stupid insecurity. She couldn't believe that he would want her in that very, very, very intimate way. She was just being a virgin, a dumb one. She was kind of afraid he'd turn away from her for it.

She turned on her heel and left him.

He woke her from a nap at sundown. He rolled her over, stripped the shirt off her body, and peeled the panties down her legs. She waited, breathless, for him part the folds of her and touch her. He watched her face while he stroked her, she held her legs open and gripped his forearms while he got her wet.

She knew what he'd do. She could _see _it on him. She warned, "...you-you don't have to...just because I-"

He guided her hand to his body and she stopped thinking. They worked him together, fingers curling until he was thick and hard in their milking fists. His face flushed, making her feel magical somehow. He leaned down to kiss her as he angled into her wet sheath.

She took him, her body made for it now, and her back bowed with the pleasure. Their hands caught over her head and held as her feet braced on the bed at his hips to open for him. He was so tall that he had to hunker down a little to kiss her, but it was worth it.

They watched each other. The soft music of her bodies surrender was quiet in the red and pink of a dying day. Gasping, Sherry gushed, "...I'm so wet...the sound -"

Jesus. She was the best thing he'd ever had his hands on. She was worried that...what? Her soaking pussy sucking him in might be disgusting somehow? Trembling near pumping her full of cum and dying there insode of her, Leon grunted, "...it's good, baby, it's so good. Look at me. Up here."

Her pink face, her flushed breasts, those pink nipples - her lips parted and wet - her desperate face collapsing with pleasure as she reached that edge...and he shoved her over, stroking her clit until she clamped, crying out high and loud, and humped wildly at his invading dick. Leon lost his rhythm. He fucked her hard and fast, her body squelching madly as it swallowed him down.

And he warned her, "...I _can't..."_

She thought...can't what?

And then? He did.

He grabbed her face to fuck her mouth with his tongue while she mewled and just erupted inside of her. Sherry thought - holy hell that's what he meant- not can't..._can't wait. _

Her hands grabbed his hips, she forced him harder with each thrust as his cock twitched and spit desperately into the sucking walls of her body, and Sherry whined sweetly with her own release still seizing her around him.

It was, without a doubt, the best sex he'd ever had.

He stroked his body into hers until they were both panting and sticky and still.

Sherry keened a little and confessed, "...it was hot. It felt hot in me."

Leon, hoarse, returned, "...yeah...hot...fuck you're so hot..."

Oh, her heart. She loved him. She was wild with it. Sherry gripped his ass to hold him inside of her. He was never eager to get off after they were done. He stayed there, twitching his dick inside of her body, and just let her feel him.

Part of her never wanted to leave this safe house. Here, he'd lost some part of who he'd been, but her? She'd found herself. She was a woman. She was a partner. She was a friend. She was a companion. She was just Sherry - just his lover. And him? He was just the man who'd given her everything.

They drifted off to sleep together - replete, content, and unaware that the dawn would bring with an end that neither could even begin to expect.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N**: L_ast update on this guy for a little while for the holidays. A happy christmas to everyone! Thank you for reading!_

* * *

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part Two:**

**-Legacy-**

* * *

**Chapter 15: Dissolution of Assets**

* * *

**2005 - Present Day**

* * *

How did she get here?

The world was a rain of bullets and blood. The walls were sprayed in red and dripping. The small row of pews were destroyed. A church - they'd fled to a church to try, like hell, to make a stand...their last stand.

She was swathed in sticky red, it was tacky on her face and neck, it was stuck obscenely in her cleavage like ketchup or something. It was surreal. It was all surreal.

She'd woken with him above her, inside her, clutching his back and opening. The whomp of helicopter blades had driven them apart. They weren't making it sneaky, nope, they didn't even try. They just ambushed the safe house and made sure they knew it was over.

The voice on the radio instructed - "Incapacitate, don't kill." The men with the guns didn't care about the order. They were out for blood.

They were pinned down in the hovel that had supposedly been safe. They were pinned down and losing. They were pinned down and cut off from Leon's supply of back up weapons.

They had no hope. And then?

Well, Sherry just made them an escape hatch. She kicked out the side of the wall of their hovel so they could run. It came down in a shower of shattered stone and mortar. Leon, impressed, kept forgetting she was more than just a girl with a little extra oomph behind her. She was a bad ass.

She was hit twice while they ran. She knew he took a round in his back as they hunched and hurried. She heard him gasp and watched his face flash with pain. Shot. He'd been shot. Shot again. Shot...shot fleeing for their lives.

All they did was run. She was tired of running. She wanted to go back and murder every last one of them for it.

Under his breath, Leon snarled, "...fucking Ada...she sold us out."

Had she?

It did seem like something she would do.

The church was the closest and first place they found. They hunkered down. She treated his side. He looked at her sadly and informed her. "They cut us off from most of my stash, Sherry. I have eight rounds left in my fucking Magnum."

They were screwed.

Sherry knew it. He knew it. His face said he was angry about it. For all the good anger would do.

And then?

The last two people on Earth she'd expected had arrived in the church via the second floor balcony. Jill and Chris - the BSAA's go to team. They were just...there. They held guns on them and Jill warned, "...stay down. I mean it, Kennedy, leave that fucking gun right there."

Leon lifted the gun anyway. Horrified at the stupidity of it, Sherry stepped between them all, shouting, "Don't! Don't! Please!"

Leon laughed, harshly, "We're dead anyway, aren't we, Valentine?" He turned his gaze to Chris, "You think we should play nice now? You sent your fucking men to kill me."

Chris, looking angry, responded, "That wasn't my order. Somebody is pulling strings above me too, Kennedy. Just come quietly. I don't want you to kill you."

Leon tilted his head, "No? You think I screwed you over. You think I used Claire. You want me dead. Just kill me, and be done with it."

Jill snapped, "Shut up! Both of you! Sherry, right?" She implored, "We're not here to hurt you. We want to help you. Let us have him, and we'll get you to safety."

Sherry laughed now, high and full of rage, "You kidding!? You think he's forcing me!? Do you know _anything _about me!?"

She grabbed Jill's gun from her hand and just squeezed. The damn thing groaned as the metal warped and twisted. Sherry turned it into a pretzel and tossed it on the ground with a clang of finality. "...he can't force me, you fucking idiots. I'm with him because he's _innocent!_ Call off your men and let us go!"

Jill shook her head as she tried to keep Chris from aiming at the girl with his gun. "We can't. We have to bring him in. We have to. We can help, if you just let us...just tell us why we should believe in him. Why?"

Sherry opened her mouth to speak, recognizing that Jill _wanted _to believe her. And Chris shouted, "He's Wesker's goddamn _SON!" _It roared, "You think it matters what he says!? He's a liar! He's a bastard of a bastard who used my baby sister like a fucking puppet! I'm going to make sure he rots in a cage like the animal that caused all of this."

Leon sneered, "...you son of a bitch..you think I can help who fathered me!? I didn't know!" He shouted it too. Sherry thought, good LORD they both had some pipes on them. They shook the rafters with that shouting. "Help me find out whose framing me, Redfield! Goddamnit...you _know _me!"

Chris shook his head, seething, "No...no. I don't know you at all. Wesker's son?! You're a born Judas. You'll say anything to get what you want here."

Jill soothed, "...maybe we just-"

"No." Chris shook off her hand, "First I'm gonna kick his ass, then I'm gonna enjoy dragging him in in chains..or maybe I just kill him now and save the world the cost of a trial. What do you think your Daddy would do, Kennedy?. Oh, well I think we both know the answer."

Chris turned the gun on him and Sherry tackled him. Jill shouted in horror, Chris was thrown back into the pews and scattered the heavy wood as he rolled, and Jill hit Sherry broadside to bring her down. They two women tumbled over the cobblestone floor, rolling, and fighting. Leon grabbed for Chris' gun and the big man kicked it away. It skittered, smacking into the far wall as the two men grappled.

Leon was thrown into the wall, pushed off, and tackled Chris at the hips. He tossed the big man up, they hooked arms, and he barely blocked the heavy blow of a massive fist in his guts. Chris elbowed him in the face for it, Leon kicked him in the knee to send him sprawling, and spun a kick to his back to put him on his face. Chris rolled to avoid getting his back stomped, caught Leon's boot, and threw him out and away.

They started fighting like any decent man with some level of training would do. Kicks, punches, grappling, and throws. One went up, one went over, and one met a fist in the ribs, face, or lower stomach. They _oof _and _umph _and grunting was punctuated by Jill being unceremoniously tossed into the middle of them.

She went down on her back, still, and out for the count.

Leon started to remark about it, and Chris took his last cheap shot. He drove the knife in his hand into Leon's left side. It hit, Sherry shouted in horror and rage, and Chris grunted, "...fuck bringing you in...I'm gonna enjoy watching you die."

His animosity for Albert Wesker had turned Redfield from a do-gooder to roid raging revenge monger. He ripped the knife free, Leon grabbed for his throat, and kick him square in the balls when Redfield came back for another jab, and there was no more fighting. The fight? It was over.

Sherry made sure of that.

She grabbed Chris by the throat, lifted him off his feet, and knocked the knife away that he shoved at her throat. As he dangled, choking, Leon instructed, "...don't kill him, Sherry. Don't."

Damnit.

She snarled, "...you think he's a bad guy? He's the reason you're walking out of here." And she tossed Chris like he was nothing. He flew, smashing hard into the altar and sliding to his face on the floor.

She turned to put her hand over Leon's against his ribs as she queried, "...how bad?"

He grunted, lips pale, "...not good. He twisted that shit before he jerked it out. He knew what he was doing."

She nodded, "Let's get you out of here. Where's the escape car?"

They moved toward the back of the church as he told her, "...old hardware store. We can cut through the alley behind the church to reach it."

He stopped, crouching down to pick up Redfield's discarded gun and knife. As they passed the altar, he knelt to check to be sure Redfield was just unconscious. Sherry was already shifting Jill into a pew for her own comfort. She bound her hands and feet. He did the same with Chris and was just starting to rise, stating, "He hits like a brick shit-"

The doors of the church opening had his gun swinging toward them.

Later, Sherry would think she'd never forget the horror of it. Him, standing over the body of Chris Redfield with a bloody knife looking like a murderer, and the BSAA bursting through those doors to avenge their fallen captain. She was too far. She was too far from him. She was...too far to save him.

Their radios crackled a single set of words - _KILL ON SIGHT._

She screamed, "NO!"

And they opened fire.

Good as he was, he'd never be anything but mortal. The three men in the v-pattern turned him into a bullet sponge. His body danced, jerking, throwing blood in sprays behind him as he hit the wall and slid down. Sherry didn't even bother to get to him. She went for the men shooting him.

They turned their guns, for all the good it did them. Sherry jerked the gun from the first one, shot the second one in the face, and whipped the first one to death with his own gun. The third tried to pop off a shot and she simply twisted his barrel like it was putty, swung with her left fist, and caved his face in with a crunch and splat of brain and bone.

When her body took a bullet, she turned to find another man advancing on her. So she picked up the dead one still wearing her fist as his face and threw him. He hit the one advancing, sent them to the ground with a grunt, and had Sherry appearing above them. As he shouted in fear, she reached down and liberated his head from his body. She didn't break his neck, nope, she just pulled it right off like a kid popping off the head of a doll.

_Pop._

His body twitched wildly as a chicken does when it's beheaded. She tossed the head like a bowling bowl into the next man over the rise and sent him tumbling back into his comrades with a shattered clavicle.

Apparently, they were done playing though, because they decided it was time to take her out. They tossed some smoke grenades at her, hit her with an acid round in the chest from a grenade launcher and just started trying to...what? Not kill her. They wanted her pinned down apparently.

A tranquilizer hit her in the back as she turned toward where she'd left Leon. She gasped, stumbling, body shaking with pain from the sizzling skin of her chest. She went to her knees trying to get back to Leon. She was crawling before she got to him. He was still alive, because he was crying.

No.

No he wasn't.

_She _was crying.

He was staring at the ceiling trying to breathe with lungs filled with blood. She covered his body with hers, trying to drag them both toward the escape door in the back of the rectory. Her legs stopped working and she dropped him on the floor with a cry of terror.

He was bleeding from everywhere. She couldn't stop it. She tried to cover all the wounds. She begged, "-don't...please don't..."

He gasped, blood bubbled out of his mouth, his hand laid against the side of her face. He looked so...something. Sad? Relieved? And his eyes fixed on the ceiling above her.

She just...started sobbing. Her hands came down to do compressions on his ruined chest as a voice shouted, "...Ms. Birkin...step away from the deceased! Don't make us kill you!"

Her voice shook the dust from the ceiling in the smoky air, "FUCK YOU!"

Her left hand stopped working. They hit her again with a tranquilizer. This one in the shoulder. Sherry jerked and collapsed atop him. She tried to use her one good hand to...what? Shield him from more damage?

A man appeared above her. She rolled, gasping, and was faced to face with Piers Nivans - the boy who'd once asked her on a date. He hesitated and she begged, "...not him...ok? Help him...please?"

Her vision wavered. Piers started to lower his gun and another face appeared in the smoke behind him. Glasses. You never forgot the glasses.

Sherry shouted, "-don't!"

And he didn't.

He didn't kill Piers.

He just...threw him away. The boy was gone into the dark. Albert Wesker appeared above her. She lifted her one hand at him to protect Leon, pleading, "...no! NO!"

Wesker grabbed her wrist and threw her aside on her face on the floor. Sherry hit, gasping, and tried to roll back toward Leon's body. She watched in horror as his father knelt, studied him, and finally stuck an enormous needle into his chest. The body jerked. The man in the glasses tilted his head. A smile crept over his mouth as he informed Sherry, "...I'll handle this. Your body needs time to reject the tranquilizer. Wait here."

She shouted, "Wait! WAIT! Redfield and V-"

"-save your breath, Ms. Birkin. They're nothing to me - chaff. I see no reason to keep them alive."

"...I-I can't. They-" She had to spare them. She _knew _in her guts, they were good at the core. They needed them alive to prove Leon's innocence. She needed them to help. He'd asked her specifically to leave Redfield alive. "-I-I'll go with you, ok? No fighting. You can just-you can take me instead."

Wesker tilted his head. He almost looked amused, "Just you?"

Her eyes flicked down to the man who lay between them. Her heart jerked as she whispered, "...can you save him?"

Wesker's lips flashed a wolfish smile, "...say yes, strike a deal, and find out."

What choice was there? She needed to buy time here. She needed to buy safety. She needed Leon alive. She needed Redfield and Valentine alive to find the truth. She needed answers. She had none.

No time.

No hope.

And no other option but to strike a deal with the devil. "...yes."

Wesker rose into the smoke and was gone.

She prayed sparing Chris and Jill would mean Claire would help them. Claire would come to their aid. She'd find a way. She'd find a way to make it right. She owed them. She'd protect them. She'd run, yes, but she'd made damn sure Sherry was safe first.

Surely now...now she'd come through. She'd spared Claire's brother and her best friend...now she'd come through for them. Sherry whimpered in fear. Would she lose everything? Would she lose Leon and her freedom and her life?

What if the risk wasn't worth the reward?

It was too late for regret.

The battle was on.

She listened to the sounds of screaming. She heard the splatter of blood and the crunch of bone. She heard gunfire and grunting. She heard the sounds of wet disembowelment.

Wesker appeared again in the smoke with a gruff, "...I've left a handful of them alive as requested. Perhaps you'll see now I'm not the villain you'd like me to be."

He lifted Leon easily enough and tossed him over his shoulder. Sherry whimpered and pushed shakily to her feet. Her body jerked spastically as it healed.

Wesker informed her, "...no time for weakness, Birkin. Whose the hero now? Will you stay here...or are you wiling to risk everything for him?"

Jesus. It was like he was in her head. She whispered, "...what have you done?"

And the horror was thick in her voice as he nonchalantly returned, "What you bargained for...saved him...or simply saved you. He was dead anyway, Birkin. What choice did he have?"

She hated the truth of it. She heard more men coming. She rose to her full height and told him, "...ok. Ok...goddammit...lead the way...I-I will cover you."

She was about to play partner to Albert Wesker to save Leon Kennedy. She wasn't sure where the world had fallen off the axis and become something she couldn't understand, but they were there. Ada Wong had betrayed them, Albert Wesker had saved them...they were indebted to a monster.

The world was officially on fire around them.

* * *

**Sushestovovanie Island, Present Day -2005**

* * *

She had time to dwell in the past while she waited to see what kind of future they'd have.

The beep of the machines keeping him alive would always remind her of the ones in the infirmary the day she'd visited him after he'd come back from Spain. He was getting a physical. He was flirting with a pretty nurse.

* * *

**_Just before Harvardville - 2005_**_(*1)_

* * *

_Sherry had watched the whole thing like a fascinated bird. He simply didn't know how to do anything but charm woman. The nurse giggled and swooned. He winked. He turned and saw Sherry and scooped her against him._

_That damn hug of his always centered her._

_They walked together through the compound into the garden while he held her hand and told her all about the things she was missing in the world beyond her walls. She asked, as she often did, if he'd seen Claire. It was the only time she could remember that he didn't look angry for her question._

_"...I have."_

_Surprised, she asked, "...d-did she want to come see me?"_

_Again, his answer was different. Usually, he rejected the question. Today? He answered, "...yes, she does. W-would you want to? If...If I backed off...would you like to see her?"_

_Without preamble, a simple answer, "...yes."_

_She wondered what had changed to make him allow it. She didn't ask. She was afraid he'd rescind the offer._

_So, Claire came to see her. They visited. It was good. It was awkward, but it was good. They chatted. They shared coffee. They asked questions as girls will do. When the redhead rose to leave, she kissed Sherry's forehead and promised to see her again._

_Sherry watched her head over the grounds with her head tilted. She paused beside Leon and smiled softly. It was gentle in a way Sherry didn't expect. Did she think they were all animosity?_

_Curious about it, she stalked them a little as they walked. He led Claire toward the gates to say goodbye. They embraced and the redhead leaned up, up, up...and pressed a kiss to the former rookie. Sherry froze, eyes wide, as she went right passed his forehead and hit his mouth. A soft, full on lips pressing, engaging joining of mouth._

_He smiled. She smiled. They said goodbye._

_Sherry stood in frozen disbelief. A kiss. It was just a kiss. That's all it was._

_The next week, Claire came again. They visited. They laughed. They walked. They had coffee. And Sherry simply threw the question at the redhead like a bullet with image of their lips locked in her head, "...you fuck Leon?"_

_Claire choked on her coffee._

_They stared at each other in the warm sunlight until the redhead returned, face calm, "...is that your business?"_

_Sherry simply waited, face bland. Finally, Claire sighed, "...we did. We...had some feelings once in the beginning ,ya know? Young, scared, stuck together - we got close in Raccoon. We fell apart with life...and this...and you. He kept me from you because he was so fucking angry. I asked to see you and we just...we had a fight. A big one. I hit him."_

_She sounded a little ashamed of that as Claire went on, "I hit him and he threw me against the wall. It wasn't...it wasn't gentle, Sherry. I'm not proud of it, but I'm glad it happened. It helped us deal with all the anger we've had all these years. It got the demons out, ya know? It was one time, and it's over now, but it was good because it brought him to the right conclusion about you and I. He knows we needed to see each other."_

_Sherry, voice soft and cold, answered, "...you had to fuck him to make him let you see me?"_

_Claire's face had closed down, eyes flashing angrily, "...I didn't say that. I said it made him realize he was blocking me for personal reasons. I didn't fuck him to make him do anything."_

_Sherry rose from the table. She shook her head, eyes snapping, "...no. You just fucked him to hurt me."_

_Surprised, Claire tried to get up but Sherry shoved her roughly back in her chair, "...don't bother. I'm going."_

_Claire urged, "Wait a minute...wait...I don't know what's happening here. To hurt you? How-why-I don't even know how to an-"_

_And then the two women looked at each other with the truth between them. Claire gripped the cup on the table and gave her a pitying glance, "...oh...oh honey. Sherry...he's not for you. He's not right for you. He's-I'm not his first, honey. I won't be his last. Leon..." She struggled with trying to phrase it right, "Leon's not a man who stays with one woman. He's got-there's this woman he's hung up on...you don't want to tip your cap for him, sweetheart. He'll just break your heart."_

_Sherry shook her head again. She laughed with ire and backed up, "...he can't...you just did that."_

_Claire looked stricken as the blonde told her, "Don't come back. I don't want to see you again. Do you hear me?"_

_She turned and left the garden. Leon was moving across the grass when Sherry passed him, unable to look at him, and warned, "...block her. She's not welcome here anymore."_

_When he looked surprised, Sherry added, "...I don't want you to ever see her again."_

_His brows had knitted as he gruffed, "...alright. Do you w-"_

_Sherry shook her head, unable to face him, "...I don't ever want to talk about her...not now...not ever."_

_She knew he understood. He tried to touch her and Sherry stepped away, shaking her head, "...not now. Just-send her away. Please...just send her away."_

_As she moved away, he prompted, "...you sure, kid?"_

_She didn't look at him. She was afraid she'd turn to stone. She just answered, roughly, "...yeah. I'm sure...and maybe...maybe you could go away too...j-just for a little bit."_

_She saw the flash of pain on his face in the reflection of the windows of the compound. Why was she punishing them? They didn't do anything wrong. He wasn't hers. She knew that. She shouldn't hurt him for moving on with his life and touching other women._

_He wasn't hers._

_But her heart._

_Her heart._

_Her heart._

_She didn't think she'd ever forgive him. Then, she'd wanted to kill them both. She'd had dreams of them dying in a firey explosion. She'd hated them both for simply being something she'd never have with him._

_She'd hated Claire because she was beautiful and perfect and **with him**. Jealousy was an ugly bitch. It chased around the regret that made Sherry's heart hurt._

* * *

**Present Day**

* * *

None of it mattered anymore. Maybe sparing Chris redeemed all the anger that she'd thrown at Claire for leaving them and then taking the last thing in the world that mattered to her - Leon. Maybe the redhead would find a way to return the favor. Maybe.

Maybe.

There were no more things in her world that were definite.

Only death...and she was trying like hell to make sure that didn't happen to it. Her world, after all, was in the bed behind her.

Sherry sat in the silence of the cold lab where Wesker had brought them. It was an island of some kind, cold and dark, dreary and misty. It was obscure, obsolete, and on no map that she could find. Of course it was. It didn't exist. She didn't exist here.

Leon...he was breathing with the help of ventilators and machines. He was there, sort of, but his body was resting and burning up. The fever might kill him if the damage to his flesh didn't.

She couldn't think of a single reason she'd punished them both for their night together. She'd understood when they'd taken Claire why they'd referred to her as his woman. She kind of had been once. Someone had seen them together.

Her eyes closed and saw it like a movie on her closed lids. Rough - he'd taken her standing, she was sure of it, while the redhead screamed and creamed and came apart around him.

_I don't want to get you pregnant, Sherry._

Had he given the same regard to Claire? Had they fucked bare and beautifully? Had he laid atop her afterward and held her while they slept?

The small sound of pain wasn't just hers. Leon moaned in the bed. She rose, hurrying toward him. He was pale and had dark circles around his eyes and nearly translucent skin.

It didn't matter if he'd fucked the entire staff of TerraSave. It couldn't. She didn't care anymore about Claire or Ada Wong or the rest of his women. The only one that mattered now was beside him. He was _hers _now. Finally.

She wasn't going to let him go. She'd give up anything she had to save him. Softly, she begged, "...don't leave me, Leon. Don't leave me. Come back to me. Come back. Please...please come back."

She put her ear on his chest, easy, soft, gentle. She listened to his heart.

Hers beat in time with his.

If she had to, she'd give it to him to save his life.

The door opened and Wesker stood in the doorway. The doctor was beside him - a beautiful blonde woman with icy violet eyes. He simply called the doctor "Alex". Alex treated Leon and glanced at Wesker, smiling slyly. "...he's responding well."

Wesker, eyes on Sherry, returned, "Yes. Ms. Birkin? A word?"

Sherry rose to follow him into the hallway. In the soft lighting, those eyes of his were startling. He didn't wear the sunglasses here. The photophobia was negated by the soft, nearly medieval torch lighting around the old slaughterhouse where the lab was located. His eyes flickered red in the yellow shadows.

"...you should prepare yourself that he may not wake up the man you knew."

Concerned, she said nothing.

Wesker continued, "...Progenitor will spare him. He'd be dead now if he was going to lose to his wounds or infection, but it may not leave him who he was prior. I awoke...ascended."

Sherry looked at the floor in fear as he added, "Leon may awake..._aware."_

He said it like it should be in all caps. Sherry lifted her gaze, "...aware?"

"...yes. Progenitor...it's...feral. It operates on the basest of instincts. It's powerful, yes, but most who'd been injected couldn't survive the change. Leon...he's survived it...the question of what he'll become from it remains...a mystery."

Sherry shook her head, eyes misty, "...you saying he'll be a monster?"

She'd killed him. She'd killed Leon Kennedy by handing him over to a monster, to become one himself. She might as well have blown his brains out the side of his head and left his body on the ground.

She'd killed him trying to save him.

She was the worst hero in the world.

Wesker started to answer and Alex called from the room, "...Albert? He's waking."

They both turned into the room. Leon was tugging angrily at the tube in his throat. The beautiful blonde woman in the white coat helped him remove it as Leon gasped and gagged loudly. He slapped at her hands, coughing around a hoarse and raging voice, "...where am I!?"

Sherry soothed, "...you're safe!"

He turned his gaze, saw her first and then? Then he saw his father.

He roared. He lunged from the bed like he'd save her from the other man. Wesker caught him around the chest to prevent him from plummeting to the floor and threw him back onto the mattress of the bed, admonishing, "Be still, you fool! You'll kill yourself playing the hero!"

Sherry gushed, "He saved your life, Leon! He saved us both! Don't fight him!"

They were struggling against each other. Wesker merely trying to hold the other man down. Leon went still when she spoke, his chest heaving with pants and pain, "...what?"

Wesker nodded as Sherry reiterated, "He saved us. Ada...she betrayed you. She almost got you killed...Wesker...he saved you."

Leon shoved his father away. Wesker relented, stepping back, and the former rookie flopped back on his pillows gasping with pain. He trembled, grabbing for his face to rub his throbbing temples.

"...this is fucking surreal, Sherry. What are you saying? That the most hated man in bioterror is the reason I'm alive?"

Wesker smirked, "...I think you're the most hated man in bioterror now...son."

Jesus.

Albert Wesker was his fucking father. He was beholden to a demigod with no soul. He was in the care of a madman. He was the most wanted man in the business - a villain, an outlaw, a rebel, a disgrace.

He was screwed.

He was in a nightmare.

But he was _alive._

Sherry urged, sweetly, "...rest. Ok? Please...just rest. We'll figure it all out when you're better."

Rest.

Could he?

He opened his eyes and looked up at her. "...I don't know if I can."

She was still, eyes wide, watching him with horror on her face. He blinked. He looked at Wesker and back at her. What was the saying? Like father, like son. This time...it was more than the virus that was in them both...it was the eyes.

He was lying in that bed looking up at her with eyes as red and orange as the flames on the torches behind him.

He'd had his mother's eyes as a boy.

He had his father's now.

* * *

**Post Note: **(*1) Italics are memories.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N**: L_ast update on this guy for a little while for the holidays. A happy christmas to everyone! Thank you for reading!_

* * *

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part Two:**

**-Legacy-**

* * *

**Chapter 16: Breed**

* * *

**2005 **

* * *

He was careful to avoid her.

She tried to see him, but the nurse assigned to him by Wesker wouldn't let her past the door. He was being stubborn. He was healing, hateful, and looking for someone to blame. She was a convenient target.

So, Sherry took the time to observe Wesker in his natural habitat. It was a little bit like animal planet. She watched him move and observe things. She felt, always, it was like being in the presence of a dragon or a cobra or a combination of both. He was, for lack of a better word, always _aware _of everything.

When he found her pseudo stalking him, he simply waited for her to join him on the walkway over the parapets of the enormous factory where Alex Wesker had made a home. What had once been produced here was a mystery. Now, it was a slaughterhouse, working to provide meat to the masses of people that lived in the village down the long rise from the factory.

They watched the people move and mill about their lives. The flicker of lights from the pier cast shadows and circles over his handsome face. The longer she spent around him, the more Sherry saw his son in his face. Whatever evil lurked behind that mask, the face was painfully beautiful. Symetrical, his features spoke of years of breeding for beauty. He was Nordic in his bones, showing signs of a heritage of blonde and blue eyed ancestors that had probably been vikings or something similar.

It was interesting to know she probably looked like his daughter to the villagers. She was blonde, she was delicate, she was blue eyed and had that rose tone under her pale skin that said both of her parents were the same. Leon was gold.

She paused at the thought and felt herself smile, but it was true. His skin tone was California tan. He was gold - from his hair to his skin. The dusky dishwater blonde of his hair had darkened since he'd cut it, offering a brunette she hadn't been expecting. Together, she and Wesker watched him move through the courtyard below the parapets with his nurse.

He still limped, but he was improving daily. He was healing at a rate that spoke of virus replication. The Progenitor virus in his blood had saved his life. They both knew it. They _all _knew he was alive because of Albert Wesker.

They all knew he hated them both for letting it happen.

Quietly, Wesker surprised her and spoke first, "When he was young...his mother used to invite me to watch him play." Wesker shifted, leaning his elbows on the railing. Sherry stood, transfixed, watching Leon pick up a ball from the bench in front of him. He tossed it lazily to the nurse while Wesker went on talking, "Even then...he was incredible at spatial relation. He didn't build towers...he built empires. He built walkways from blocks for his men to travel. He built staging areas for battle. Four years old and he was already made for war."

Sherry returned, softly, "...you were still around then?"

Wesker glanced at her, startling her with those red eyes of his, "Hmm...not entirely. Vera knew how to contact me...she would...let me come to places where she'd play with them and observe them from a distance. She...hesitated at any real interaction between us...the risk of what I was..._who _I was...it limited my ability to be a father to them."

Sherry blinked. What was he saying? What did that mean?

Had he wanted to be a father?

Had Leon's mother made a choice to keep them apart?

Had she been trying to protect her son from the life of his father?

To clarify, she asked, "...what about Kate? Was she ever-"

"..no" He stopped her with a shake of his head, "Kate was as mortal as you were once. She was softer...sweeter..." He was quiet for so long she thought he was done talking until he added, "...simpler."

Sherry glanced at his face and he shrugged a shoulder, "She was safe for it...and then she wasn't."

He glanced back at his son as Leon picked up the light sword made of Nerf foam. He swung it, effortlessly, and executed a series of lunges and parries that was impressive. Aloud, Wesker mused, "He's been trained well."

Sherry nodded, "...they wanted to make him..." She trailed off.

Wesker laughed and it was dry enough to make Sherry wince as he finished for her, "...a weapon. Yes. They would. I was created for the same reason...sadly...weapons have a tendency to turn on their maker."

He turned and started down the walkway, adding, "See that he doesn't over do, would you? I have plans for you both."

Sherry sighed and called back, "...has he seen you?"

Wesker laughed dryly, "Of course not...but I'm not nearly as beautiful as you are. He'll tire of the ugliness here and miss you. Employ the power of a woman, Sherry, and find out how to control a man."

Sherry blinked. She got the impression he was suggesting she seduce Leon to get back into his good graces. Almost amused, Sherry moved down to the courtyard. The nurse caught her crossing it and hired to intercept.

Annoyed, Sherry warned her, "..if you even put your hand on me, I'm going to shove it up your ass."

The petite female nurse looked terrified until Sherry soothed, "...I just wanna talk to him. Let me pass."

And so the little redhead let her do that because she knew, working at that factory on that island, that nobody living in that warehouse was entirely human. She had no doubt the girl could break her wrists. It wasn't worth losing an arm to stop her just because her charge didn't want to see his girlfriend.

Leon rose with the sword clutched in his hand. He braced and Sherry called, "I surrender."

Annoyed, he lowered the fake blade and gave her a filthy look, "...now's not the time, kid. Beat it."

She rolled her eyes and crossed toward him. His body hummed when she approached. Curious about the reaction, he felt it intensify the closer she got as she remarked, "You're moving like a man on his way to being perfect again. You're alive. You're safe. I did the right thing. I wish you weren't too fucking stubborn to admit it."

When she was a foot from him, head tilted in curiousity at his silence, he tested the wavering power between them. His hand snapped out and caught her face. She made a small sound of surprise but let him. He was _so fast. _It was alarming.

Progenitor had given a man with immense training, the speed of a cheetah or something. He was snake quick and nearly as smooth. He dragged her forward. Sherry made a sound of surrender and opened her mouth. The wet kiss went on and on until she was breathless and boneless and thoughtless.

When her mouth broke to gain air, he mused, voice gruff, "...fuck."

Dizzy, she breathed, "...you want to?"

He almost laughed, but it wasn't funny. Something in him, it didn't just want her, it wanted to _breed _her. His mouth was dry. His heart was slamming hard in his chest. She was pink cheeked and smiling, but the humor...it wasn't anywhere in the courtyard.

Quietly, he returned, "...yeah...right now."

He dragged her into the cold line of the trees at the edge of the courtyard. She nearly tripped and fell and his arm looped around her waist to drag her up and carry her like she was nothing. He put her against a tree. Her hands grappled for his face.

Fabric ripped. Breath fogged out white and chilly in the cold air. She wanted to warn him about his wounds, but he was relentless. His hands pawed madly at her pants. He ripped them with a soft sound of surrender from the fabric.

His hands hiked her up around her ass and her legs looped, looped, as he just...took her.

In all her life, she'd had this filthy dream about a thousand times. She'd woken to it at sixteen, playing with herself while she pictured him pounding her flat into her mattress with a kind of desperation she couldn't begin to describe. She was awake now, awake and willing. Her body swallowed his down like a mouth. He wasn't easy. He was hard and desperate.

He pinned her back to the tree and tried to split her in half. Her mouth opened on a cry of completion, her body just went slick and hot around his invasion, and he hammered her so hard the tree rained dry and dying leaves around them into the small layer of snow beneath his feet. He caught her face to kiss her, claiming her mouth while he cursed her name, cramming the throbbing evidence of his greed for her so deep inside she thought he might be fucking her in the heart.

When her coat got in the way, he ripped it open and the shirt beneath it. It flapped wildly over her sweaty torso, allowing him to feast on her breasts. The fabric flopped uselessly as she used her thighs to ride him, used her hips to hump him, used her hands to help him hammer her body until she was soaked with surrender. Sherry grabbed his face to kiss him and he put a hand down her belly, stroking, seeking and showing her what she'd been missing all this time.

The second his fingers found the slippery nub of her clit, Sherry creamed and came wetly, back and body humping madly forward. She squealed, squeezing his dick inside of her while she erupted, crying a little with release, grabbing wildly at his face to hold on while she rode to the finish. His left hand caught her throat, he turned her face back and squeezed, gripped a handful of her hair in his other one to hold her for his tongue and finished her off.

She urged, "..._please.."_

That was all he wanted. He slammed her back against the tree so hard it echoed through the cold night and pumped her full of his hunger. When she whimpered, whining slightly, he dropped her to the ground and turned her around toward the tree. He rode her through his finish with her hands slapped against the tree to brace herself. His hands jerked, jerked, jerked on those hips to force his cock so far into her begging body he was surprised she didn't break. She could take him.

She could take it.

She was _made _to take it.

He mated himself to her and knew she could take every inch of him again, again, again until she was rich and ripe with child.

The moment he thought it, his body froze.

Mated?

The impulse to mate her made his brow knit. He trembled, hands stroking her spine like a supple sided race horse who'd been ridden well to the win. When he tugged, the clothing she wore was pulled free and he stroked her naked flesh in the moonlight.

He'd just porn star fucked this girl in the wide open woods, yards away from the most hated man in bioterror who waited within those walls for whatever nefarious plans he was promising to implement using them as prisoners of war. He'd just fucked her like he couldn't help it, like he had to have it, like he'd die if he didn't. It was stupid, simple, feral and primordial.

It wasn't like him at all.

It was animal in nature, the urge to copulate and impregnate. It wasn't anything more than an impulse that he'd been controlling all his life. He wasn't a guy who fucked girls when danger lurked steps away.

That was how you ended up six feet under with a bullet in your balls.

Sherry whimpered sweetly and his hands gathered her up to turn her against him from behind. He kissed her, hands stroking her naked flesh. He cupped her breasts and stroked her belly, he fingered her slick heat where he was still nestled inside of her. What the hell was wrong with him?!

Mate.

What had it said in those reports he'd read about Progenitor?

It's soul purpose was to propagate the species through superior breeding. Breeding. He was _breeding _her. She was superior because she was a G-Specimen. He was breeding her because his blood knew she would create something in her womb that was stronger, bigger, better, faster.

Leon set her away from him while she trembled. He shook his head and his voice was hoarse, "...you feel that?"

Sherry's hands tried to touch him and he warned, "...don't...look at me."

She looked up from his groin to his face and he urged, "...yeah. You feel it...fuck...we can't do this again."

Surprised, hurt, he watched emotions flicker on her face as she queried, "...w-what?"

Shaking his head, he dropped and grabbed her coat. His hands stuck her arms in it and he zippered her up. She gave him such a sad look that he tried to explain, "...your father chased you around that fucking RPD trying to breed you, remember?"

Sherry blinked at him. She shook her head, "...what does that...wait- what? I don't-"

Leon grabbed her arms to set her away further, "...I want to breed you."

She blinked again. Her mouth was rosy and wet from him. He wanted to lean in and taste her. Annoyed, a little worried about it, he backed off from her like she'd burned him. Hands lifted, he warned, "...I don't want to...but I want to."

Her brow furrowed and he tried again to explain, "...whatever is in me, wants to mate with whatevers in you."

Sherry looked soft and sweet, needy, as she answered, "...I want you too."

Frustrated, he backed up and tugged his fucking pants from his ankles to cover himself, "...no...I just-remember? I said I didn't want to cum in you...because you might get pregnant."

Sherry nodded, "...and then you did."

Right.

Hah.

_Shit._

She was right. And then he did.

Damnit.

Annoyed again, he laughed dryly, "...Sherry...this isn't the same thing anymore. Everything is different now. What if this is what he wants? What if he wants us to make a fucking baby for him?"

Her eyes widened and Leon urged, "Yeah. See? We can't. We can't do this again. We can't."

Why in the _hell _did he sound so unsure about that? He wouldn't touch her. He could do that. He could stay away. Hell, being angry at her had kept her safe this long. Maybe he could push her away to do it again.

So, he said, "Stay the fuck away from me. You hear me?"

Mean. That was the way to keep her safe. He had to get mean with her. She flinched and he added, "I don't want you anymore."

He turned and left her. His body wasn't aching anymore. He wasn't hurting. Fucking her had somehow activated some kind of regeneration in him. He was good to go. He felt like a million bucks. His balls were empty, his heart was pounding, and he was ready to fight the world.

His heart wasn't sure that the pounding wasn't regret. He didn't just want her. He hadn't just wanted that from her ever. She wasn't that kind of thing to him. She wasn't something he could use and toss aside.

He wanted to keep her, claim her, covet her. He wanted to put a baby in her fucking belly, but not like this. Not here, not now, not living like sinners in a the seventh circle of hell. He was trapped like a prisoner by TWO Weskers.

What the hell was happening to him!?

Sherry stood frozen in the woods. Her bare legs were cold. The evidence of his victory over her was sticky between her thighs where it dribbled. She whimpered with sadness. This was what it meant to love him.

He just...he was...he wasn't...what was he doing? What was this? What did any of that mean? He didn't want to breed her? Could he? Would he? Should he? What if breeding her protected him? What if carrying his baby saved him from being executed?

What if proving he was fertile meant Wesker might spare him?

Curious about the thought, she wondered what Wesker really wanted from them. Was he right? Was it this? Did he want their child? Did he want to take that child and use it's DNA to make something even stronger?

Maybe he just wanted to be a Granddaddy.

She froze.

Her mouth twitched. Her eyes trembled. She covered the laugh that eeked out behind her palm. Stupid to laugh. It was so stupid. Wesker - a granddaddy. The idea was ludicrous. The whole thing was insane.

She'd just fucked Leon Kennedy in the woods outside of a slaughterhouse. She'd stared into his boiling red eyes while he filled her out like an application. She'd let him dump his load in her and run away like she'd told him she had AIDS afterward.

How much more insane could it get?

She called after him, voice echoing, "You can run, but you can't hide! I love you!"

She heard him shout back, voice laced with frustration, "..._women!"_

Her mouth twitched. They were safe here. She wasn't sure how she knew that, but she felt it. Maybe Wesker had plans to see them pay the price of a thousand unfortunate souls before them. Maybe the end game of his was ugly and dark and never ending.

But here, now, she was safe and Leon was safe.

They needed to know what he could. They needed to know what he was now. They needed to stay apart to keep from fucking like feral animals in the woods. She wanted to chase after him and grab his cock and ride him like a rodeo bull.

Jesus.

How did they do this thing?

They needed help.

She needed to ask Wesker how to control what was happening.

She needed to ask Albert Wesker how to stop trying to mate with Leon Kennedy.

It was asinine.

Her hands tried to stop it, they did, but there was no stopping it. The laughter echoed through the cold while the cum on her thighs mocked her. She'd just been screwed. And now?

Now they both were.

* * *

Alex lay on her back on the warm white mattress. She watched Albert shift through papers at the table in the low light of the desk where he sat, "You sure this is how you want to play this game, darling?"

He didn't even glance at her as he answered, "...he's my son."

She laughed and rolled to her belly, scooping hands through her piles of blonde hair, "...yes he is. He's beautiful, Albert, smooth and gorgeous and skilled. I hate you for it."

But she laughed. Albert sighed and leaned back in his chair, "I think I can convince him to do what needs done."

Alex tilted her gorgeous mane of gold, "Hmm...he is ripe for it. He's got...that craving for family that Vera was so terribly covered in. I know now, why you were so drawn to her. She was beautiful and simple and so very needy for you. She reminds me of that Birkin girl."

Albert nodded, "...she was the right choice, I won't argue with that. Now what to do about the Redfield girl. If he learns of it-"

Alex waved that away, "It won't matter. I'll make sure he has other things to occupy his mind. Embrace him like a father, he'll forget anything beyond these walls. Between your loving arms and that girl's desperate thighs, he won't have time to do anything but simply...evolve. Kennedy...a strong name...but he'll make a better Wesker."

Albert tapped his fingers on the table. She was right. With the right prodding, Kennedy would be the perfect Wesker. He just needed to convince him that they were cut from the same cloth. They were both, after all, tragic heroes in a sadly misunderstood story. They were both the good guys of their own tales.

Like Father...Like Son.

And soon enough?

Like _gods._


	17. Chapter 17

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part Two:**

**-Legacy-**

* * *

**Chapter 17: **

**Of Gods and Men**

* * *

**2005**

* * *

Leon hit the edge of the table and rolled, his body propelled by it's own momentum into a tuck and tumble. His bare feet hit the ground, his left shoulder dropped, and he skidded through the mud to find his balance as he rose to brace for the kick that nearly took his head. His arms crossed, blocking, and the sing of pain left his forearms throbbing.

That was the thing about monsters strength, it didn't stop the pain that came with a good kick to the solar plexus. He staggered, Wesker hip kicked him hard enough to send him to his back, and the staff in his hands was an inch from Leon's left eye. They stared at each other with matching silver shaded red irises as the former S.T.A.R.S. captain taunted, "...stop _trying_ to hit me...and hit me. You're faster than this - smoother, stronger. Stop limiting yourself!"

His gloved hand caught his son's shirt and jerked, throwing the younger version to his feet. Leon whipped low, went for his feet, and got an elbow to the face for his effort. HE went to his back again, grunting, and feel the cooper taste of blood in his mouth. Defeat felt like being drop kicked in the balls. He'd accepted the training, but he wanted to kill the man offering it.

"Quick tracking me...you _know _where I'll be."

He kept shouting things like that. He kept commanding. He kept pushing, as if he knew more about Leon's skills than the man in question. He was demanding, dominating, and abrasive. He made no attempts to be friendly or supportive. He was a ruthless tactician offering cruel tutelage to a determined pupil. He kept knocking him down, and Leon kept getting back up.

Just like in that battle in the Spencer Estate, Leon's sheer fortitude never failed to impress his father.

Leon had opened the door to the skills without opening it to the truth. He didn't want to know his father. He had no interest in whatever story Wesker might try to sell him about who he was, what he wanted, or where he was planning to push his agenda. Leon didn't want to know him, but that didn't stop him from wanting to know what he could _do. _Learning from Wesker just might be what made the difference in controlling his strength and speed, and learning to maximize on his abilities.

Leon caught the wrist coming for his face, rolled under the arm, and drove two hard strikes into the sternum of the waiting Wesker. His father grunted, caught his throat for the effort, and threw Leon so hard that he hit the wall of the slaughterhouse, shook the stone, and slid to the ground on a groan of pain. "You're not human! Stop fighting like a human! Let go of what you were! Let go of anything but what you _know! _They trained you! Stop fighting the training! Stop fighting _me..._and just knock me down!"

That was the thing, he was _trying. _He couldn't win. Wesker was everywhere. He was fast, not like he'd been in that Estate, proving that he'd lost some kind of power in the interim - likely owing to the loss of whatever compound he'd been seeking in Spencer's care. But Wesker didn't need the goddamn speed of a monster to be better. He was faster, smoother, sleeker. He moved like water and used his body in a way that was impressive and utilized every muscle.

Serpentine - he moved like he was made of muscle without bone.

Leon came at him again, fluid now and faster than he'd been. Strike, reverse, parry, thrust and push - he fought with a feral rage that impressed his father, and got him nowhere. Wesker kicked him to his ass in the mud and slapped his face like a child.

Insulting, but powerful - it was a teaching technique that made men rise from the ashes of their own defeat since the dawn of time.

Albert Wesker was a man who was made to train men. He knew how to motivate, how to cultivate skill, how to necessitate attacks. He taught effortlessly, seeking the core of the completion of training that was inside of his son. He knew Leon was limited by the idea of humanity. He checked himself to avoid killing.

He needed the filter removed to maximize himself. To do that, it was going to be a matter of breaking down everything he thought he knew about himself - from bones to blood to brains. He needed a reboot, he just wasn't sure he was willing to let Wesker be the one to reboot him.

Father son bonding time for Albert Wesker was the equivalent of a slap in the face in the pouring rain.

The good thing? It made Leon push harder than he'd ever done in his whole life. Apparently, his trigger was being told he was weak and useless. That seemed to make his soul sing with the urge to prove himself.

Wesker was careful not to bring up anything emotional. Leon wasn't entirely sure, but he suspected his father was just as uninterested in a big emotional scene as he was. After the third time he went down on his back, Leon finally grunted, "...enough..._fuck..."_

His curse of frustration echoed like the grumble of thunder in the dreary sky above them. It had been gray and raining for three days. Three days of fighting like feral cats in the yard turned to mud with moisture. He was missing the sun, missing Sherry, and his body was letting him knows it wanted to bury itself in some pussy like a stud mounting a bitch to breed.

Wesker didn't even offer him a hand up, he just turned away as Leon gained his feet. The other man never wore anything but black. The black fatigues, the black t-shirt, the black glasses - these were all staples of a man who looked as monochrome as he didn't villainous. Leon, spitting blood, remarked, "You could try putting some fucking color in your wardrobe, ya know, if you want the world to stop thinking you're the most obvious bad guy in history."

Wesker paused. He turned and tilted his head, "...you think I wear the glasses for style?"

Leon shrugged, "Why else?"

Without a word, Wesker smirked and turned away. Annoyed, Leon limped over to sit on the small picnic table waiting in the drizzling rain. "What?"

Wesker shook his head and turned toward the other man. "Sometimes your arrogance rivals mine. It seems the traits I admire in myself are amplified in you. It would be foolish to assume anything about me, Kennedy, without knowing it for certain. Even before my conversion, I suffered from photophobia."

Leon sipped water and mused, "...sensitivity to light?"

The other blonde nodded and crossed his arms over his chest, "As a child, I was often kept indoors to help combat the strain to my irises. As I got older, they produced special glasses that blocked UV rays to a nearly entire extent. Part of what I am allows me the ability to exist in total darkness."

Interested now, Leon wondered, "...you have inherit night vision."

Not a question. The answer was obvious. Wesker remarked, "I didn't as a mortal. I just had better tunnel vision than most other men. The sunglasses, they allowed me to see when the light would blind me. Like sonar, but clear somehow. When I awoke...after my...death..." He seemed at a loss for what word fit the moment, "I no longer had to worry about sonar. I could see perfectly in the dark. Clear as I see you now. I'm nearly unstoppable in it."

He laughed lightly with irony, "The sunglasses were often a source of amusement to my colleagues. They accused me of being anything from a rebel to a drug addict...as if I needed to hide the whites of my eyes after partaking in a few good puffs on a joint."

Leon felt his mouth twitch with humor. He didn't want to find his father charming. He wanted, even less, to know this kind of thing. The strange part? The more Wesker talked, the more he heard a man and less a monster. He was demonized in the bioterror world to a nearly existential degree.

Curious about it, Leon asked, "...you still need them?...the glasses?"

Wesker tilted his head again. His mouth twitched, "It's been raining since you awoke...wait until the sun returns and ask me that again."

Great.

He was about to be Neo from the Matrix in more ways than one apparently. He was about to throw on sunglasses like his father and strut around at night looking conspicuous. Fantastic. The sarcasm in his head should have leaked out his ears it was so thick.

Leon sighed heavily and hesitated, but curiousity beat a lifetime of anger as he mused, "...how long were you being experimented on without knowing it?"

Wesker shifted and settled onto the table beside him. They both stared forward into the horizon as he answered, "...I was four years old when they took me from the orphanage in Raccoon City to the compound in the Black Forest. I don't remember much until I was older - nearly eight before I can harness my first memory of being a boy there. I was...it seems...always a bit different."

Leon arched a brow and Wesker clarified, "I was never the type to falsify feelings. I didn't befriend those in the program the same as others. Alex was always popular, but I preferred the comfort of my own companionship."

Leon nodded and mused, "You didn't know you were a test subject?"

Wesker laughed lightly, "Of course not. I thought I was at boarding school. They taught us. They trained us using an old Russian method of indoctrinating spies from a young age. We didn't even know we were being cultivated to become weapons. The others...some thrived and some failed. They would disappear one at a time...I always assumed they were adopted or going off to new homes."

He was silent for so long that Leon finally filled it, "...they were dying."

Again - not a question. Wesker just nodded, "Of course. The Progenitor virus was too unstable. It was eradicating their red blood cells at an alarming degree. Those who could harness the power, didn't survive the change. Their brains, it seemed, simply couldn't comprehend the mutation. If they lived, they burned alive with fever or they went insane and were put down like dogs."

Leon nodded, speculating, "That's why you needed the T-Virus to temper the strain inside the Eukaryota cell."

Impressed, Wesker glanced at him, "Yes. Progenitor is powerful, but flawed. Spencer knew it when we started to die like flies. Alex survived...but she's weakened."

Leon glanced back at him, "...weakened?"

Wesker nodded and added, "Dying. She's dying. The degeneration of the cells are slower, so she's simply degrading like anything else that breaks down, but she's aware her time is limited. Without the right infusion of T-Variant antibodies...or even a G related compound...she won't survive the winter."

He didn't sound upset by it. Leon suspected they were lovers - the Weskers- which might have been alarming if they'd been biologically related. As it stood, sharing the Wesker moniker didn't make them blood relatives. They were adopted to a program, not born to a bloodline. It was a surname, not a legacy.

Well, not for anyone but him apparently.

But he suspected Alex meant more than Wesker was letting on. He simply looked bored, as he always did, discussing human response. When Leon was quiet for a long moment, Wesker finally filled the silence, "You begin to understand why you're here."

Leon nodded, sighing, "You need me to cure her."

Wesker shrugged a shoulder, "I need your blood and Sherry's to even try. There's no guarantees. The rate of cellular degeneration may already be too severe. She will either mutate or die soon with or without intervention. I might be able to draft a stall, I might be able to concoct a cure...it's impossible to know without cooperation."

Leon arched his brows, "Why not just take my blood? I'm a prisoner here."

Wesker shook his head, "No. You've never been that. The door is open. Leave any time it suits you."

Wesker slid off the table. Leon, annoyed, invited, "Oh, yeah? Just walk right out the door and never look back? You're gonna let me do that?"

Wesker shrugged again as he walked toward the far side of the courtyard, "I saved your life. I have no interest in running it. If you want to run back to the fray and see your life wasted, I've done all I can for you. I want your cooperation, Leon, not your ire. I won't take what you don't offer. I'm a man of many things...but I remain one of my word. Offer, and I'll accept. Decline, and see yourself into your own future. I've done what I can for you...but understand this - if you walk out now, Simmons will come down on you like a rain of venegance that lasts longer than this one we're in."

He faced his son and added, "He won't stop until you perish. He has no interest in keeping you alive...but I do."

Leon snapped, "For my blood...because I'm useful."

Without compunction, the other man returned, "Yes. You've always been useful. Remaining so makes it clear why I worked to keep you alive. Your blood, your talent, your ability to adapt...those things are gifts that are cultivated into abilities you can't teach, Leon. Let me teach you, as you've done here, and I can promise to make you the weapon Simmons wanted you to be. I will give you the power to turn on the masters who've held your leash all these years and free yourself. Your blood...it's useful because it's _mine. _I will protect it, I will promote it, and I will use it to make you immortal...but only you can decide if a lifetime of hatred for me is going to stop you from a vengeance you've been chasing since the moment your own people turned on you."

They held gazes until Wesker finished, "You were born for battle...the question is what you're willing to risk for the power to win."

Voice gruff, Leon wondered, "What did you risk?"

Without missing a beat, WEsker answered, "Everything. I lost enough to remind me that every win matters. I was never meant to be your father, Leon, not the way you wanted...not the way Vera wanted. I tried. I wasn't made for it. I was always...different. But I gave you what you needed. I gave you a reason to push toward a future without fear. I made sure you knew I was out there, and that you shoved your way into the world where you could find me...so I could be the father you finally couldn't survive without."

Leon's jaw flexed as Wesker finished, "I was always aware of you. I was always around. I had my reasons for what kept me away, but I did the right thing by you with my absence. Some day...you'll understand why."

Leon shook his head. His voice resonated with pain, "...Kate died trying to find a glimpse of you...she died looking for you. Where were you then, Albert? Where?"

Wesker answered, voice calm and cool. "She was dead the moment that lightning strike hit the tree. She was clutching the bark and gone. I couldn't help her...but you awoke with a broken leg. You tumbled eighteen feet before I caught you, your knee hooked over the limb and snapped the bone...but your back and neck would have been next if I hadn't caught you."

Leon's throat seized up as Wesker nodded, "Yes. I was there. I've been there...most of your life...watching and waiting. When I discovered Umbrella had...experimented on me...I distanced myself further to allow you to live in peace as much as possible...and then?"

He laughed with such rich irony that Leon's brows arched as he finished, "And then you walked right into the city they'd made damn sure to see fail with my fingerprints all over it."

After a handful of seconds, Leon's laughter was high and angry, "You saying you were framed?! You were framed for Raccoon City? You had nothing to do with it?!"

Wesker answered, lips turned up in a smile, "Oh, I had _everything _to do with it's fall."

Leon leaped off the table and approached, finger drilling into his father's chest, "All those people! YOU made sure they all died! For what!?"

Wesker shook his head, looking unruffled and cool, "I had nothing to do with the city itself becoming a necropolis. How could I? That was _William.._.the ignorant fool. He was always such a dramatic soul. I made sure I instigated the outbreak at that mansion...you're goddamn right I did. It was the only way to attempt to let the world know what they'd done."

Leon's eyes flickered, "You saying you were trying to _expose _them at the Spencer Estate?"

Wesker shrugged a shoulder, "I'm saying the S.T.A.R.S. were so far up Irons ass, I had to do anything I could to make the world aware of their betrayal."

Oh.

Oh oh oh.

Leon's lips twitched, "You son of a bitch...you _fucking _son of a bitch...you're playing me. You're trying to tell me what!?...what? That _Chris Redfield _is the villain in this story?! That the S.T.A.R.S., the people who were turned into pariahs and driven out of a city like Frankenstein for trying to expose the conspiracy...that they were just covering their own tracks?!"

Wesker shrugged, "Believe what you want. I don't know, I never did, if Chris and Jill were involved directly...but Burton was. He'd been involved from the start. I had some sympathy for him, I knew he'd been blackmailed by Irons by threat to his family. When the time came, I used the same tactic to ensure his complicity in covering my tracks as I worked to make damn sure Umbrella was exposed. When I suspected Chris and Jill might be innocent, I used them to find the crumbs I laid toward the truth - Burton took out Enrique when the other man turned on him. Burton made damn sure he looked guilty so he could point the finger of blackmail at me...he was right...I'd blackmailed him. I'd done it knowing it was going to come to light. I wanted them looking at me...I was hoping they'd find Spencer with his puppet strings above my shoulders and sever them to set me free."

Leon was so quiet that Wesker smiled a little, "I know...two sides to every story, aren't there? Chris wouldn't listen...when the tyrant awoke and finished me off...I tried to explain about things. I told him that Umbrella was to blame. I told him I had worked for them. I admitted that I knew what was happening in that mansion. I took the blame, because I was sure he'd see that I had no choice. I had to free myself. I had to be damn sure we all got out to bury Umbrella for good. I had to...it was the only way I knew to protect you and your mother. I had to bury Umbrella."

Leon shook his head, denying it, "You set Marcus loose...you cornered Chambers on that train with those fucking leeches...that was _you."_

Wesker laughed lightly, "It was. I admit it was risky. I was sure I could get Marcus to make his own mess and get him on that damn Express train to somewhere he'd be sure to expose himself...the risk of human life lost...it was worth it at the promise of exposing Marcus and showing the world what madness he'd been making with Spencer all those years. I knew the cost...and I paid it."

Leon shook his head, shaking with anger, "You had no right! You had no right to risk all those people! Why!? Make me understand why!"

Wesker shrugged, "Battles are won in blood, Leon. I couldn't risk Marcus finding his way to the Spencer Mansion. I needed him gone. I needed him found out. I was going to blow the lid on the whole thing - first his goddamn leeches, and then Spencer's fucking disgrace of a T program. The Tyrant...he was _mine."_

There was a flash of something on that handsome face that Leon wanted to call pride. "I created the tyrant. I knew what he was...he was capable of so much more...and then...t_hen_ I found the data on Project W. I knew what I was...I knew what I _could be..._I knew...if I just risked it all..I would become the one thing they'd never be able to stop."

Leon waited for it and Wesker did disappoint, "I became the perfect storm. I became the _tyrant. _The first of its kind. Light years above the pathetic intelligence of Lisa Trevor. I was still _me _and yet I was now unstoppable."

When the silence expanded, Wesker finished, "...power gives us the ability to become anything we choose, Leon."

Leon, quiet and thoughtful now, digesting all the intel that was swirling in his head like madness, wondered, "...what did you choose to become?"

Wesker answered, voice cool and commanding, "Free."

They held eyes until Wesker smiled slyly, "Yes...we are alike, you and I. What drives us is the same thing, the same truth, the same need...freedom. You are beyond what they would limit you to...they limit you to punish me...reject their limitations...and find your power."

The rain drizzled around them. Leon said nothing, trying to find balance in a world that was suddenly full of truths and lies and limited access to the events in question. Whose side of the story was right? Burton's? Redfield's? Wesker's?

Had Chris turned so hard against Leon when he'd discovered his relation to Wesker because he'd tried to kill his former Captain to cover up his own duplicity?

Was Albert Wesker the unsung hero in the story of a city they'd all been telling since the day it became a crater in the Earth?

Had the S.T.A.R.S. been the bad guys all along?

There were so many holes in the story - in his, in Redfield's, in Valentine's, in Burton's, in Chamber's...whose story was the truth?

Did it matter? At the end of the day, what if he was right? What if Simmons was the man out there pulling the world down around Leon's ears and trying to destroy him? What would he give to free himself of that oppression?

What would he risk?

His teeth flashed in a wolfish flash of white as he finally answered the question on his father's face, and sold the final piece of himself he'd been trying to save from corruption. What would he risk?

The answer was simple..._everything._

"...I'm in."

Wesker's smile flashed in response - a wonderful sly slash on a face lit with some kind of glee that felt frightening and exciting at the same time. "Pick up the stick, and prepare yourself."

Leon picked it up, twirling it in his hands. He braced and the world whittled down to the man in front of him, and the past behind him that burnt away on a wave of revenge. Freedom - he'd stop at nothing to get it. Simmons was the man behind Umbrella now. Simmons was the man pulling the strings.

It was time for the puppets to pick up their pieces and revolt.

If he wanted the power to free himself, he'd have to embrace the most hated man in bioterror.


	18. Chapter 18

_**A/N:** Written on my phone. Excuse any errors until I can get to a computer to fix it. Thank you!_

* * *

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part Three:**

**-Something Wicked This Way Comes-**

* * *

**Chapter 18: **

**Phoenix**

* * *

**2005**

* * *

"He's not dead." The truth echoed softly in the sad dreary sky.

Of course, it wasn't news to either body that stood beneath the miserable mire of murky gray light. They both already knew that. It was part of being involved with him. You just knew he'd survive.

The drizzling rain was beneath the arch of an umbrella. The face beneath was cool and calm, catching enough light from the flickering neon bar sign in the distance to reveal the gorgeous bone structure of something that spelled years of conquering people to claim their culture. The expression on that beautiful face hid the anger inside of it.

The voice trembled, "...you liar."

The redhead facing that angry expression remained unflappable, "...whose the liar? _He's _the liar. Wesker is his _father!"_

The beautiful woman wearing red laughed with ire, "That's not his fault. You planning to condemn him for it? You won't be the first. You won't be the last. Hell, your brother has already written him off as guilty and executed him."

Claire shifted in her seat facing Ada Wong. They held gazes over the bustle of people hurrying through the rain to shelter. "...I know he left Chris and Jill alive."

Ada smirked slightly, "Of course he did. He's Leon, not Wesker. He wants them to vindicate him, not murder him. Fuck your brother."

Claire winced at the expression as Ada continued, "We do this without him. I'm cut off because that goddamn Wesker made sure to burn me at every turn. Simmons, the jealous fool, has made sure I have a target on my back bigger than that goddamn eyeball on Birkin's shoulder."

Claire nodded, glancing around her, "So what? What do you want from me?"

Ada gave her a cool look, "You know he's innocent. You know that girl with him isn't there because she's his prisoner...she's his lover."

Claire's whole body tensed. She shook her head, "...he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't touch her that way. She's a child."

Ada arched a brow, "Spare me the jealousy...clearly you don't need me to explain the way a dick works. She's beautiful. She's eager. She's devoted. He's fucking her...he was fucking me once too." She tilted her head at the hurt on the redhead's face and mused, "And _clearly _he was fucking you as well...that's our boy, after all...he does love a good fight and a good fuck."

Claire sighed heavily, "...what do you want from me, Ada? Stop trying to hurt me and just get on with it."

Ada laughed lightly, "You can move in circles that are cut off from me. I need you to find out about Alex Wesker and Project W. I need to know where she fled to when Spencer died. I need to know what Wesker wants with Leon. If we want to clear his name, we need to find out why Wesker helped burn him to begin with."

Claire tilted her head, "Why Wesker? Why not Simmons? You said Simmons burned him out of jealousy over you, right? Why include Wesker in the equation? Maybe he's the one getting burned as well."

Ada laughed again, "You Redfield's...always looking for a chance to restore faith in even the most irredeemable of villains. Albert Wesker has one agenda - Power. If he thinks he can get that from his own son, he would cut out Leon's heart and piggyback it over his own...don't begin to believe anything else or you'll wake up in a bathtub full of ice missing your own."

Ada's eyes scanned the voluptuous body of the girl Redfield, "I don't think you'd enjoy what he'd take from you either...would you?"

Claire shifted where she stood and snapped, "...fine. I will dig around on what I can...but what are you going to do in the mean time...? Or is it just my neck on the block here?"

Ada laughed again and backed up in the rain. She winked and returned, "I will do what I can to make sure your secret stays safe. You? You should prepare yourself for what happens when he finds out what a liar you are...maybe you shouldn't judge him so harshly, Claire...I mean...we all have our secrets right?"

Claire watched the red and white umbrella bob away. Clearly, Ada had a sense of irony and humor about it. It was the symbol of a corporation that had made sure they were all still paying the price for that one night so many years ago.

Claire sighed heavily and shook her head. Apparently, she was about to do what she could to save Leon Kennedy. It would seem his time had come to play damsel in distress. Firstly, the hardest part was about to come to pass.

She had to find a way to make sure her brother never found out about it. If he did, he'd stop at nothing to block her on her quest. He simply would never believe that anyone sharing Wesker's blood could be good.

She wasn't sure how she knew...but she still _knew _in her bones that Leon was the boy who'd fled that city with her. She'd known him then. She knew him now. Maybe they had there differences, maybe they weren't the best of friends, maybe they almost loathed each other sometimes...but the respect she carried for him would never end.

Even if he was fucking the entire United States Army, she'd still know he was a man who'd never have willingly served the wrong side.

She just had to find a way to prove it.

After all, Ada was right. They all had their secrets. She wasn't even going to pretend her's were any worse than Leon's. Right now? She didn't have a leg to stand on. She just needed to get moving to make sure Leon still had his when it was all said and done.

She was about to see how much a ghost she could be while the man with the moniker was held in chains by the monster who'd made them all in the blood of a burning city.

* * *

Alex and Sherry sat together in a small library alcove sipping tea. The older blonde was watching the girl read with a kind of intelligence that was nearly palpable. When Sherry couldn't take it anymore, she lifted her head to face that beautiful gaze.

"...you need something?"

Alex smirked softly and crossed her legs in the leather armchair, "Hmm...more than a few things, I think. You've heard, I'm sure, that I'm...dying."

Sherry lowered her book, turning to face the other woman completely. They locked eyes as Sherry finally answered, coolly, "I have. You're here, I'm assuming, to ask me to submit for testing to see if I can cure you."

Alex smirked again, "Something like that. Will you?"

Sherry shrugged and lifted her book again, "Why not? You can poke me...just once...and never again."

Alex laughed lightly, "Just like that?"

"Why not? We're here. We're trapped. You could, if you wanted, make me do it. Seems more conducive to agree. Leon agreed, I heard, when Wesker put the question to him. So why not follow suit?"

Alex's eyes twinkled, "You'll do it for him? For the boy?"

Sherry snorted, "He's hardly a boy...but he's the reason- absolutely. I'd do whatever it took to protect him. You leave him alone, you can have anything you want from me."

Alex's teeth flashed, "...loyalty...it's so hard to find these days. I understand the compulsion. I have the same for Albert. I would, it seem, die for him. I might still." She seemed unconcerned with her own demise, "Impending doom is boring, after all. I prefer life...and love."

Sherry arched her brows over her book, "...meaning?"

Alex grinned, "Meaning...I saw you in the woods."

Well...Sherry felt her face flush pink. She cleared her throat and tried to look nonchalant. "...so?"

Alex laughed lightly and patted Sherry's knee, "Good girl. Don't let passion embarrass you...it's natural. It's part of living. It's mating, you know, in a way that no one can understand. The Wesker blood...it's potent. It runs through you and runs into your groin to make you...surge with a sexual need that's nearly crippling."

Sherry looked so uncomfortable that Alex laughed again, "Don't be embarrassed, darling. It's all part of humanity...and the evolution of what you both are. You realize, of course, the only way to sate the urge is to get with child."

Sherry's face paled and the other woman urged, "Don't be frightened. You're safe here. I know, we all do, that Albert would never let anything happen to your child with his son. You saw what he was willing to do for his son...imagine his ferocity of fatherly devotion to a grand child."

Sherry was terrified at the idea of Wesker's possession of a grand child. The thought made her want to run away into the bathroom and slit her wrists in a tub full of blood to make sure he never got the chance. Would he kill them if he got their child? Would he simply make sure they were disposed of? Would he breed them again, and again, and again...and make an army?

Terrifying.

As if she'd read her mind, Alex soothed, "Don't fret now, sweetheart. I think...we will surprise you. Don't forget that once, not long ago, we were just people too. Someone experimented on us..it wasn't a choice. I held onto greater pieces of who I was...but Albert...he was always harder, darker, and a little more lost. He came from a place where no one loved him. I think, I still believe, that he was experimented on in that orphanage long before Spencer brought him to the fold. I don't think he had much hope of being just a boy."

Sherry felt a twinge of sympathy, "...I know the feeling."

Alex smiled gently and rubbed her knee, "You do, of course you do. You were just a child born to build up another. You poor thing...some people will never understand the gift of having a child in their womb...I-" Alex sighed sadly and rose, shaking her head, "...well...enough of that melancholia. Perhaps you'll join me later for a game of croquet?"

So polite. The thing about life in this slaughterhouse? Somehow, it was the politest place Sherry had ever been. It felt like high society inside of a place where carcasses used to dangle and drip blood. Surreal.

Sherry nodded as the other blonde left her in the library to think. Was it as simple as Wesker seeking absolution for himself through his own bloodline? Was he looking for...family? Was he looking for connection in a world where he'd always been alone?

But what of all the rumors? What of the things she'd learned about him? He was the most hated man in their world...was he really hoping they'd believe he was simply misunderstood? It was too far fetched, it was too big of a leap of faith to trust in that. She needed proof to believe him.

How did she find it locked inside of these walls?

She rose and hurried from the library. Leon had been careful to avoid her. It was, after all, for the best with the mating thing hanging over them. Alex had seemed encouraged at the idea of them mating. What happened if they both just gave in and let it happen?

Could she raise Leon's baby locked in the walls of a place filled with lies and madness and memories of a lost city?

Sherry shook her head. She was losing it here within this place. She needed to get out of here and clear her head. She needed to figure out what was lies and what was the truth. She needed to know what the world was doing with the death of Leon Kennedy.

She was hacking into an outside signal easily enough and digging through media feeds to see about what the press knew when she heard the clatter of a sound in the library below her. Shifting, Sherry caught sight of Leon beneath the balcony, tossing through books and flipping through pages of some big black leather bound journal. She studied him, feeling her heart trip twice. Should she call out?

The computer beeped and signaled that she was hooked into the B.S.A.A.'s archives. She had minutes before they detected her breaching their firewall. Sherry worked like a demon, slipping through data until she could plant the worm she'd created into the hard drive on their main frame and escape through a back door virus out before they could find her. She started the download of their files concerning Leon, Wesker, Project W, and the entire Raccoon City debacle.

As she sipped on her tea, watching data fly across the screen, she heard Leon curse in the main chamber down below her. Sherry peeked through the bars like the girl had done once spying on him in that train station. He slapped the book off the desk. He kicked it over with a roar of anger. Her heart slapped and slid and her mouth went dry.

So angry.

Why?

What was happening to him?

He was turning into something she didn't understand. She was afraid, desperately, he'd begin to turn into her father. She was terrified she'd saved his life only to lose him to the virus inside of him.

She must have made a sound, because he spun and zeroed in on her watching him. She felt her throat close up. She scrambled back from the railing like he'd aimed a gun at her. Without thinking, she hurried from the desk and the computer she was on and went deeper into the archives of shelves and old books. She slipped through a few shelves and waited, breath held.

She didn't think he'd pursue her, after all, he wanted her to stay away from him.

She was almost positive he'd left when a hand snaked through the books behind her head and looped over her mouth. She squeaked and he pinned her to the shelf at her back, voice brusque and rough, "...you spying on me?"

Sherry shook her head - no. She felt a flutter of panic as he demanded, "Alex send you to spy on me? I know you were with her. I heard she visits you sometimes. You best friends with the enemy now, Sherry?"

She tugged his hand off her mouth and gasped for air, snapping, "Me?! I _saw _you in the courtyard with Wesker. I know you're training with him. How could you let him teach you anything!? He's a monster!"

With a laugh of anger, Leon let go of her and she heard him back off on the next row over, "Please. He's just a guy trying to survive. Who am I to judge? You know how many fucking people I've put in the ground, sweetheart? I'm no angel."

Jesus.

He was spending too much time with Wesker. He was starting to think like a guy without a conscience. He was starting to make peace with all the people he'd killed. Urgently, Sherry demanded, "Listen to yourself. Listen...do you believe that? Do you believe you're anything like him?"

Leon's laughter scared her, "Of course I am. So are you, kid. We all are...just most of us are afraid of what it means if we stop pretending. Wesker...he doesn't pretend. He is, what he is. It's refreshing. I need to know what he knows to stop Simmons. I need him to clear my name."

Sherry denied that, "You don't. I can help you. I will help you...forget him. Ignore him. Please."

Leon's voice was rough, "I can't, Sherry. I'm being framed. I'm being used. You think I'll let Simmons scape goat me because I'm too cowardly to fight back? I'm gonna stop Simmons, and then? Then I'll deal with the Weskers."

Jesus.

He was planning to what? Stage a coup? Was he thinking he'd take out everyone in a big blaze of glory? Did he think Albert Wesker would be out smarted by his attempts at paternal affection?

Sherry turned around the shelf and warned, "...don't be stupid..please don't...if he think you'll turn on him -"

Leon laughed, "He expects me to. Don't you worry, kid. I know how to handle myself."

He turned to leave the row of shelves and Sherry hurried after him. She called, "...can you? Because I watched you die a few days ago. I held you while you stopped breathing and watched your goddamn eyes fix and dilate. Can you handle yourself, Leon? Or are you just as stupidly arrogant as the man who spawned you?"

He turned back toward her. She watched the anger on him. Her heart kicked twice as he swallowed the rage that beat around them like butterflies wings. His voice snapped, "...I might have been dead, kiddo, but I ain't done. Don't sell me short because you think bravery means stupidity. I know what I'm doing. Either help me, or get out of my way."

When he started to leave, she grabbed his arm and slung him around toward her, "You might be able to talk to everyone else in the world like that, Leon Kennedy, but you won't dismiss me, you won't reject me, and you won't shut me up with arrogance. I won't stand by and watch you court your own death again... I can't. I won't survive it if I lose you. Do you understand me? I won't make it."

They glared at each other until she finished, "I love you...stop trying to test me on it. It won't change. You can be the biggest dick in the world, it won't change anything. I would rather die than stop trying to save you."

He didn't understand that level of devotion, but it made his blood warm. The second her hand slid against the bend of his arm and touched over his bare biceps beneath the sleeve of his black t-shirt, he forgot anything else but her anyway. His right hand caught her face, her hands went right for his belt. It happened in that way that was indescribable.

He threw her down on the table in the library. They coupled fast and hard, Sherry bowing in his hands while he took her. It was like he was removed from himself to witness it above. He could see his hands on her breasts. He could see his mouth on her body. He could see her bowed on the table with his face buried between her thighs.

She tasted, in his mouth, like hot, wet, _woman. _

When he filled her up, she squealed softly and grabbed for his hips to hump him through his possession of her. They lay curled together on the heavy leather sofa in the dreary light of the rainy day with their arms and legs wrapped around the other - a naked octopus of flesh and feelings.

Their kisses were wet and slow, sucking, tongues and trembling hands. The soft patter of rain on the windows accompanied their lazy touching. Passion sated, they simply explored, like limpid lovers might with nothing but the other in the whole world. The rain made a cocoon around them somehow.

As his hands cupped and stroked her bottom, Sherry traced her tongue over his left nipple. He was watching the rain on the windows that half surrounded their little alcove in the library as she mused, "...this is why we can't be around each other."

Leon simply grunted.

She dipped her hand down his belly to stroke his dick. "We should focus on what's happening to you."

He grunted again.

"You want me to leave?"

His hands caught the backs of her thighs in answer. He lifted and she settled over his lap to ride him. Lazy, he laid beneath her on the couch and played with her breasts while she took him into her. He seemed insatiable, as if he could cum in her until she simply spilled down her thighs in completion.

Stupid.

It was all so stupid.

Fucking her here, now, with nothing to protect them from the outcome. Fucking her at all. Fucking her bare and unprotected. Fucking her harder and faster and softer and needier. Fucking her when he knew it ended with him in love with her.

He didn't want to love her like that.

Love was stupid. It was wasteful. It ended with somebody broken.

Love was for the books that horny housewives read and used as shower nozzle masturbation material.

Love was finite.

It wouldn't save her, to love her...but power might. What if he could leverage what power he could take and find a cure for her? Would he risk his own humanity to save hers? Sherry leaned down to kiss him while she fucked him.

His balls tightened in pleasure of being inside of her.

What if he fucked her until she was pregnant and simply kept her? What if they stopped fighting for the truth, and just lived here...like this...and became whatever the viruses in both of them wanted them to be. He was still Leon, he could _feel _what he'd been inside of whatever he was becoming. He was still him.

Did it matter who he'd been?

The world thought he was dead.

What if he stayed dead and stayed here, inside of Sherry, forever?

Voice gruff, he commanded, hands on her face to hold her to him, "...tell me what to do here."

Her body rolled. Her hands caught his over her face and she gasped, "...love me."

Right.

That's all she wanted.

Love.

He started to answer and she added, "...trust me."

He did...didn't he?

And she finished him off with, "...and let me keep you safe. Let me protect you, Leon...say yes. Please? Say yes."

Her voice was high now, higher with need. She rode faster. He held her to him to kiss her. He watched her face and simply gave her what she wanted as he answered, "...yes."

She came. Her body bucked. He drew her done to hold her to him as he fucked her through her release and came in her with a grunt as his dick erupted and bathed her beautiful womb with his feelings for her. It cost him nothing to say it.

He'd never let her protect him.

He'd never let her go.

Damnit.

He wanted to keep her.

Now he just had to find a way to free them both so he could.

The answer to both of their happiness was embracing what he was becoming. It was understanding he was the son of the devil. It was believing he could take what he was learning to leverage it toward some kind of life for them.

He wanted to stand in the rain and love her.

He couldn't love her until he deserved her.

To do that, he had to burn his past and rise again from the ashes. If he played the game here, and worked with the Wesker's, maybe they could give him the keys to his own power...maybe they could offer him the ability to be the kind of man who could protect her, save her, keep her, love her, and conquer her.

Conquer?

Yes.

She was a woman he had to conquer. She was still starry eyed to the boy he'd been. He wanted to be the man who'd done more than die in her arms. He wanted to be the man who killed anyone who hurt her.

He wanted to avenge her the same as himself.

First Vera...then themselves. First one love, then another. He was going to show the world what it meant to murder Leon Kennedy and watch him come back from the dead like the city they'd tried to bury him in.


	19. Chapter 19

_**A/N:** We'll start to jump time a little as I aim toward building the conspiracy. Shall we see a hero lose his way?_

* * *

**Orphan**

* * *

**Part Three:**

**-Something Wicked This Way Comes-**

* * *

**Chapter 19: **

**Out of Darkness**

* * *

**2006**

* * *

Life with Weskers was easier than it should have been. It was a matter of training and determination and somehow? Love. Love was all over their time in that stupid slaughterhouse turned mansion.

Sherry watched him train and learned what she could from Alex regarding viruses. She trained, when he asked, beside and with him. She watched him get knocked down, bleed, and get back up. She adored him, admired him, admonished him for pushing too hard and found herself naked in his arms when the sun drifted down under the horizon in bath of gold and red.

She knew, in her gut, she should push him to get away from here...but she was happy. Somehow, some way, a Leon driven to clear his name and restore himself was a mesmerizing creature. She wanted nothing more than to stand beside him on the day he redeemed himself. She'd been in love with him, she thought, most of her life. Sometimes, she suspected she might have been born to love him.

It was trite. It was cliche. It was maudlin and meagerly romantic and permeated with the stench of too much girlish charm, but it was true. She loved him so much that she caught herself stroking his belly like a dog or something while he slept and watching his face. It couldn't end well. She knew that too. It couldn't end well.

She didn't care. She was going to keep him as long as she could.

The bad part was that he started to become something else.

It started out as a one man quest for redemption, but it rapidly became a man bent on revenge. As she watched, Wesker manipulated Leon into thinking he'd been the victim. He gathered thoughts and events and warped them somehow, making it evident that he was the wronged party. Did he believe that? Did he really think he was the betrayed hero in this rotten fairy tale of his?

It didn't take long to realize he did. Part of Wesker believed he was the injured party. Part of him really walked through life thinking he was the guy on a path to make the world a better place. It made him scary in a way she hadn't considered before because he was easily warping the world around him to his vision. He was taking the truth and making it muddled by eyes that were blinded with betrayal.

Leon started to believe in him.

The second she realized Leon was coming around to Wesker's side, she tried to find a moment to urge him to be careful. It was one thing to use the Wesker's for his plans for redemption, it was another to begin to believe in their work. Alex and Albert Wesker were geniuses. They were masterminds of manipulation. They worked around the truth until you started to wonder why you'd ever doubted them.

It was the moment Sherry started seeking the truth in secret. She went through their things when they were away. She was careful to learn the patterns of the security cameras in the compound and exercise the blind spots. She moved about like a ghost when she needed to, grateful to Leon for all his time spent teaching her stealth.

She found pages of ranting in Alex's diary. She found blurbs of old files in Wesker's desk. She found gathered notes between him and her father. Pleading from William for him to use control and caution. Annette's desperate attempt to stop the madness before it became a nightmare.

Her parent's weren't monsters - fools maybe- but not monsters. William eventually succumbed to Wesker's mania and followed him down into the darkness. Annette remained apart from it, worried about protecting Sherry while being drawn to the promise of the G-Virus being perfected. The truth was in black and white.

She wanted to show it to Leon, but they'd see her. They'd watch it happen. They'd never let her sway him that way. She was fairly sure they thought she was under their spell anyway.

Sherry _knew _Alex was playing her. She felt it every time they talked. She wanted a child and she wasn't subtle about it being Leon's and Sherry's. After that, Sherry doubled up on her efforts to avoid pregnancy. She started avoiding making love.

When she knew he was after it, she would find reasons to leave him to himself. The more she grew to resist him, the easier and clearer her vision became. At dinner one night, she listened to him talk about Simmons and the "subjective truth regarding the destruction of all man kind" and she came to a horrible conclusion - if she didn't find a way to stop it, Albert Wesker was going to turn his son into his protege.

Leon Kennedy on the wrong side of the fight was terrifying. He'd slaughtered over a thousand men himself in a single day or something...he was a machine. He was driven, ordinarily, by a desire to do good. What if Wesker convinced him that the good was "eradicating the weak to make room for the strong." What if he started killing in the name of a new world?

One afternoon, she broached the subject with him. He was lying in the sun with a book on his chest and almost asleep when he mused, "...maybe it's time for us to go."

Surprised, he opened his eyes and tilted his head at her, "...you're not happy here?"

It was the moment she knew that he _was. _He was happy here, in this place, away from the fight and the world and the rumors. He wasn't a weapon here, he was just a man...no...he was just _a son._

Afraid that he'd forget about his mother and what she'd died for, Sherry went to her knees beside him. She stroked a hand down his chest and remarked, "I'm happy when I'm with you. I'm always happy...but this place...it's starting to feel like we've both forgotten what we promised here. Aren't you ready to start clearing your name?"

His hand slid up her arm. He smiled softly and petted along her bicep, bringing the tiny hairs alert in appreciation. She thought - _nope. Touching is stupid. He's trying to distract you._

So, she rose from the ground and paced away. Surprised, Leon called, "What does it matter?"

Sherry turned, her eyes wide, and he added, "...maybe I don't clear my name. Maybe I stay here and we just...live. Would that be so bad?"

It was time to go.

He was almost gone.

She could see the shadow of who he'd been all over the lazy creature on the ground before her. He was losing focus, he was forgetting who he was, and Wesker was making sure to mold him into whatever parrot or puppet he was desperately seeking. She knew, if she stayed beside him, she would start to fall into the trap of it as well. Why? She'd never been able to stand against him. She didn't want to. She wanted him happy. She'd wanted, so long, for him to give up the fight and start a life.

But not like this.

He was unfinished. His fight wasn't over. He had to stop Simmons. He had to make sure those who'd framed him paid. He needed to protect the people in the path of a madman. He was hiding out here. He was letting Wesker convince him that revenge was a dish best served cold.

He needed to realize that the world beyond these walls still needed a hero.

How did she motivate him? How did she protect him? How did she make him see he was being used? But maybe that was all it was for him. He'd felt used and abused and betrayed outside these walls. Here? Here he was a prodigal son. He was treated with respect and adoration. Wesker made sure to teach him to fight and survive and channel all of his natural talent into making him a merciless machine.

He was happy here.

What did it mean that she wanted to take that away because she wasn't sure the world would survive without him?

If Simmons had his way, he'd manipulate his way into the White House. He'd assume control of the Senate. He'd lay the ground work for a coup that could leave the United States exposed to outside and foreign threats. She had no doubt that Derek Simmons, once a patriot, had sold pieces of himself to the highest bidder. What was his plan? To put a puppet in the place of the President and leave the country exposed to bioterror?

Maybe...maybe he assumed he'd run on a platform himself, unleashing viruses in areas to make the threat seem domestic. Maybe he meant to sell bioweapons as the cure for outbreaks like dogs or something. She pictured him preaching to the American people about the benefits of possession your very own B.O.W.

_Scared of the undead? Buy your own hunter on sale today! _Images of little kids using a hunter or a licker like a protective dog made Sherry shiver in fear. If no one stopped Simmons, would the country become a legalized breeding ground for B.O.W.S. Would they quickly replace home security systems as extension of the second amendment?

Jesus.

The reach of a man with the power of the President behind him was frightening.

Sherry backed up two steps. She glanced at the house behind him. She had no doubt they listened and saw everything. She needed a place to speak to him where the eyes and the ears of the Wesker's weren't watching and hearing every sneeze, gasp, and grunt of pleasure. She knew they watched them fuck. She knew they watched them fight. she knew they watched them sleep.

She knew.

She'd been a test subject all her life. She'd been watched from the moment Simmons had taken her in. She wasn't afraid of eyes watching her, but she was afraid of what it meant if Leon following in the footsteps of his father. He'd tear the world down in some insane attempt to save it.

She whispered, "...and what about me?"

He looked a little confused as she added, "...what about me, Leon? You promised to avenge me...if you stay here...if you do nothing...Simmons walks free. He gets away with framing you. He gets away with torturing me. He wanted you gone. Aren't you afraid of the reason why? He wanted you gone enough...to kill your mother."

That worked.

She watched it hit and leave a mark.

She nodded, "Yes. Your mother...you've let yourself become lazy here, Leon. You've forgotten that with you hiding out here, the rest of the world is exposed. He wanted you gone..." She hesitated and wanted to say it. She wanted to tell him that Wesker was likely in on that too. She wanted to remind him who his father was. But it was dangerous. It was so dangerous. So, she added, "...he's not the only one who wanted you gone...somebody is playing you. Can't you see that?"

He frowned.

She urged, feeling a quiver of fear, "We're not safe here, Leon. Not really. We need to go."

He rose from the ground, shaking his head, "You're being an alarmist, Sherry. They've been kind. They've protected us. They're helping me track down those responsible for my mother's death. They haven't offered violence or anything else. You said yourself he saved my life."

He shook his head again. The red of his eyes glinted in the sunlight. She felt an arrow of horror. Was it the virus in him? Was it over taking his common sense? She had no doubt it had done the same to the Wesker's at various points in their lives.

Alex seemed less a victim of her own machinations, but Albert was nearly deluded with self worth. He truly believed he had a greater purpose to rescue the world from itself. The progenitor in him was now in his son.

How long did Leon have before he became something else entirely?

Sherry urged, "Let's go...let's go now. Say goodbye and leave this place with me. OK? We can take what we know now and try to stop Simmons. We can clear your name. I'll help you."

Leon laughed lightly, "...you're being silly. We're safe here. You're safe here. You think I'd take you back out there? I can't protect you out there. I died trying, right? I won't risk it... I can handle my father."

My father.

Not Wesker, not anymore...now? Now it was _my father._ She was terrified it was too late to stop him from bonding to the man who'd once been the mortal enemy of the entire truth he stood for.

Sherry felt a seed of panic start. She moved toward him and grabbed his arm. Surprised again, he gave her an exasperated look as she shook her head, "...don't. Don't call him that. He's the reason you exist, but he's not your father. He was never that. Your _mother _died trying to protect you from him. Don't you see it? He claims he chose to stay away...but maybe she _kept him away. _You ever consider she was trying to spare you from the truth of who he was?"

Annoyed, he grabbed her arm and shook her with it, "...stop it! Listen to yourself, Sherry. She _left _the photo for me to find. If she wanted me to avoid him, why leave me the truth of who he was? You're being stupid here."

Hurt, shaking with it, Sherry tried one last time, "...maybe she wanted you to know who to get revenge against."

He froze. She nodded, rapidly, "Yeah...maybe she wanted you to know who to kill to avenge her. Damnit, Leon...don't do this. Don't believe in him...you _know _what he is. My father was just like him."

And then?

He killed her where she stood. He simply shoved her away and remarked, "Yeah...a monster, right? Like I am now...like _you."_

Sherry went still with hurt. He laughed angrily and started back toward the house, slinging his last remark at her like a weapon, "...you'd think someone who'd been turned into something else against her will would understand his plight. He didn't choose what he is, Sherry, he's just trying to exist within it. You should do the same. Your father was the monster...he forced himself on you to make you one. Mine? He hasn't forced me into anything. He just wants me to understand...our father's were nothing alike."

It was too late.

It was too late.

He was gone.

She watched him cross the grass toward the building. She backed up three steps. As if he sensed it, he turned toward her. She tilted her head, "...what happened to you?"

Leon sensed something on her because he warned, "...don't, Sherry. I mean it."

She backed up again. Her voice broke, "I should have protected you. I thought I was saving you. I should have listened...you didn't want this. You didn't want to be this...and now it's too late. He has you. He has you like he had my father before that. He has you and he has me...and he has the future right here. We've walked right into his hands. Can't you see it?"

She backed up again. Leon took a step toward her, "...what are you doing?"

She whispered it now, "...saving you."

She turned. She ran. She heard him shout and give chase.

She went through the woods like she had wings on her feet. She ran so fast that it might have made a mortal's lungs burst. She poured on the speed until she reached the wall surrounding the compound. She scaled it like she had feet made of suction cups. She went up, she went over.

She heard him follow, shouting her name.

She needed to get him away from here.

She had to get him away.

She wasn't sure how she knew, but if she stayed here...if he stayed here...she'd lose him forever. He'd Darth Vader and never be the man she loved again. The boy with a heart of gold was gone.

How did she stop the man from descending into total self destruction?

She ran.

She heard the pursuit and turned to find him close. Fast. He'd always been so fast. He reached for her and Sherry used what he'd taught her to fight. She stuck her hip in his way, grabbed his arm, and slung him over back. He went up and over in a nice hip toss, grunting as he hit the ground.

He started to argue against her and as he rolled over, the truth of the moment was clear.

She was standing in the woods with his gun that she'd divested him of as she'd thrown him. She was standing between him and the man beyond the rise. Albert Wesker stood with the gun on him and mused, "...will you shoot me?"

Sherry shook her head, "...go back...go back now. You're done with him. He's done with you."

Leon started to rise and she shouted, "I'll shoot him, Leon! Do you hear me? I will shoot your father."

What had the world come to?

Wesker mused, "...you'll miss."

To prove it, he just came at her. Sherry was ready. She ducked, he swung, and she shot him from close range in the side. He hit her in the face for it, and she kicked him in the stomach as he recoiled. She shot him twice in the chest as Wesker backed off.

Leon shouted in horror and she turned the gun on him, "I said stay down."

His hands came up. He quivered in the leaves, "What are you doing?"

Wesker started to speak and she beat him to it, "If you come after us, I will kill you. I know what you are...liar."

She hit him so hard in the face with the gun that Wesker went to his side in the dry crackling woods. When Leon shifted, she turned the gun on him again and commanded, "Walk. Now."

He shifted like he'd resist that and she warned him, "The next one goes in his head." She aimed the gun at his father's temple.

Leon shook his head and told her, "You won't. You're not a killer. Not like that. You wouldn't hurt me like that."

He started toward her. She turned the gun on him and wanted to shoot him to prove him wrong. He wasn't _her _Leon anymore. Her Leon was _in there, _but she needed time to find him again. She should shoot this one and prove him wrong.

She couldn't.

She lowered the gun as he approached and cooed, "See? That's my girl."

My girl.

She was.

She was his girl.

She'd always been his girl.

His girl needed to save him now.

He cupped her face and she leaned up to kiss his mouth. The second their lips touched, she told him, "...I'm so sorry."

He started to speak and his eyes rolled back as she swung the gun into the back of his head. It hit, he grunted, and he slumped forward into her arms. She hefted him up and over her shoulders without any effort.

After all, when she needed it, she had monster strength.

It was the one thing her father had left her.

She was hoping the gunshots in Albert Wesker would fester and leave him for dead. She stood above his body carrying Leon and spit, "...bastard."

She kept picturing him murdering her father. She wondered if that's what had happened. Had Wesker stood over William and injected him with G? It seemed like something he would do. She knew Wesker had murdered his way to power.

She'd read everything she could find in his office.

Whatever lies he told Leon, the truth was much more simple - he was never a man. He'd been born missing what made him one. He had no soul or something. He had no feelings. What was the word?

Psychopath?

No. No. Psycho meant feelings. It meant he could feel. This man? He was a _sociopath. _He felt nothing. Leon was nothing more than a possession. She would die before she let him take another man she loved.

She carried him through the woods and felt her heart shiver. Where to take him? Who could she trust?

But the truth was simple. There was only one person in the world besides Leon who could help them now. She had a tendency to run, sure, but she was their best and only bet now.

It was time to take one last chance on Claire Redfield.


End file.
